Wednesday, August 16, 2006
My apartment road drops at about a 45 degree angle, for two hundred yards, where it rises again to another ridge (on which more major roads are situated). Lately I have seen the same man, a "junk" collector (one of many) who pushes a wide, low handcart in front of him and calls out. He mostly collects metal, to sell for scrap. While he probably wishes for a better lot in life, the presence of these men and teens really cuts down on trash, and helps with recycling efforts. Of course, there was the one time I was in a kabob house and a man came in to sell a load of chopped up wood. Mixed in were several sheets of thick wallboard or cardboard. Since the pide (bread) was cooked in an open fire in the shop, I wondered what type of chemicals were getting into my food.
On Sunday, Arif's in-laws treated me to a wonderful day. After two previous mix-ups (even communicating which day one will visit over the phone is difficult for a non-Turkish speaker), Orhan and his son Umut arrived to wisk me away. We first went to Atakule, a towering structure with a revolving restaurant at the top. I could see most of Ankara, and see just how steep and pitched the terrain is. The closest I can come to a U.S. city with similar terrain is San Francisco (but with an environment and housing more like Lebanon). They then took me to the Ankamall, which was not really what I came to Turkey for (four stories of shopping, including a Starbucks). Of course, it was interesting to remember when people could smoke inside. The food court was especially nasty, with thick smoke above everyone's head (smoking is very common here, even on public transport, where supposedly only the driver is allowed, but I've seen passengers lighting up on a dolmus).
Next we went to Anit kabir (Ataturk's mausoleum). Mustafa Kemal (Ataturk) was the modern father of Turkey, who initiated so many progressive ideas that he must have had a time machine. His picture is in just about every shop (even the smallest shop) and office I have been in. We have no one to compare him to in the U.S. (a mxz of Washington, Jefferson, etc., but even that doesn't represent what he did for the country, and maybe I will write another time of him).
Then we went to Orhan's home, where I also got to meet his wife, daughter and Tulay, who I believe is Turkan's half sister and two others came. Despite the lack of a real common language (Umut knew very little English), we could discuss through maps, gestures, etc. where I was from, where my and Silvia's family lived in the U.S., what their favorite football (soccer) teams were, and even joke about things. It was such a warm feeling to be with a family, sitting in their home, drinking fresh squeezed lemonade, and I owe them for their hospitality.
Before bringing me home, they walked me to Altipark (alti=gold), a BEAUTIFULLY designed park, with walkways, a humongous indoor swimming pool (I don't think many swim in Ankara - most of the swimmers were in tinted plastic innertubes), a fishing pond, paddle boat areas, go-cart areas (I left Umut in my dust), horse rides, lots of ice cream vendors, a running/walking track, etc. It was so well put together that my list of items doesn't do it justice.
On the return trip home, as it was getting dark, we passed a large rock wall, four or five stories high, all lit up. Water cascaded off it, and it culminated in a brightly lit white castle. I will have to explore it (I've also been told there's a pink castle in Ankara).
On Sunday, Arif's in-laws treated me to a wonderful day. After two previous mix-ups (even communicating which day one will visit over the phone is difficult for a non-Turkish speaker), Orhan and his son Umut arrived to wisk me away. We first went to Atakule, a towering structure with a revolving restaurant at the top. I could see most of Ankara, and see just how steep and pitched the terrain is. The closest I can come to a U.S. city with similar terrain is San Francisco (but with an environment and housing more like Lebanon). They then took me to the Ankamall, which was not really what I came to Turkey for (four stories of shopping, including a Starbucks). Of course, it was interesting to remember when people could smoke inside. The food court was especially nasty, with thick smoke above everyone's head (smoking is very common here, even on public transport, where supposedly only the driver is allowed, but I've seen passengers lighting up on a dolmus).
Next we went to Anit kabir (Ataturk's mausoleum). Mustafa Kemal (Ataturk) was the modern father of Turkey, who initiated so many progressive ideas that he must have had a time machine. His picture is in just about every shop (even the smallest shop) and office I have been in. We have no one to compare him to in the U.S. (a mxz of Washington, Jefferson, etc., but even that doesn't represent what he did for the country, and maybe I will write another time of him).
Then we went to Orhan's home, where I also got to meet his wife, daughter and Tulay, who I believe is Turkan's half sister and two others came. Despite the lack of a real common language (Umut knew very little English), we could discuss through maps, gestures, etc. where I was from, where my and Silvia's family lived in the U.S., what their favorite football (soccer) teams were, and even joke about things. It was such a warm feeling to be with a family, sitting in their home, drinking fresh squeezed lemonade, and I owe them for their hospitality.
Before bringing me home, they walked me to Altipark (alti=gold), a BEAUTIFULLY designed park, with walkways, a humongous indoor swimming pool (I don't think many swim in Ankara - most of the swimmers were in tinted plastic innertubes), a fishing pond, paddle boat areas, go-cart areas (I left Umut in my dust), horse rides, lots of ice cream vendors, a running/walking track, etc. It was so well put together that my list of items doesn't do it justice.
On the return trip home, as it was getting dark, we passed a large rock wall, four or five stories high, all lit up. Water cascaded off it, and it culminated in a brightly lit white castle. I will have to explore it (I've also been told there's a pink castle in Ankara).
Monday, August 14, 2006
Yesterday it reached over 100 degrees, but I'm still walking around, taking in as much as I can. I'm still drawn to the differences, the unique (at least to me). Three days I watched my neighbors separating large "wraps" of sheep wool (thick matted wool, connected as if someone had shorn a sheep like one tries to peel an apple in one long go). They were using sticks on it, and hanging small bundles of it on their fence. I saw a truck load of watermelon being unloaded, by hand, by three men. One on the truck pitched a melon through the air underhanded down to a second man, who swung his melon about 14 feet across the sidewalk to a third man by his stand. They probably had 60 watermelons to throw that way.
A most interesting difference is in driving. Despite bouts of road rage, we are much more civilized drivers in the U.S. Here cars run pellmell (sp?) everywhere. There are very few stop lights, and no stop signs that I can see, so cars creep into intersections, watching for cars (smaller European models) which seem to weave down the streets and roadways. This may largely be due to the absence of street lines, either down the center of streets or along the shoulders. The major highways may be three or four cars wide, but with an absence of lines cars tend to go everywhere, passing on the right, crowding cars over to one side, forming as many or few lanes as they wish. At 55 miles an hour, it creates quite a liberating feeling (I only have been a passenger, but I don't have too much fear, as everyone has to remain alert since they don't know what the other cars will do). On the narrower streets, u-turns, especially at intersections, are incredibly commonplace, and one more thing to look for when trying to cross the street.
The drivers display a liberal use of the horn here, not the long, leaning on horn of New York City, but several quick taps saying "step back, don't pull out, I'm coming" as they hurtle down the road.
When they do place traffic lights, the cars that stop tend to line up as many as they can fit across the road. This is especially disconcerting when the light is on a traffic circle, so cars stop on a turn, and with an absence of lanes, it resembles the start of some warped car rally. Added to this is that the red starts flashing, to let drivers know the light will soon change. Even more tempting to lead-footed drivers, a few lights have an electric countdown, like a basketball shot clock, that is posted next to the light. 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1... but by then, cars behind are already honking. The installers fortunately created countdown clocks that turn green too, so that you know how many seconds before the light will turn red, so you can speed up to make your light.
Due to the lack of specific markings, etc., I also notice cars go where, at least in the U.S., they shouldn't go. Yesterday I was in a car, and the driver saw a parking spot about 100 yards back. No matter that it was a one-way street, or that it was a three-lane one-way street. He did a quick u-turn and drove into the oncoming traffic, then parallel parked the wrong way, heading into traffic that swept by as if nothing was wrong. When we later left, it only took another u-turn to be on our way.
Added to the cars, there also Dolmus's, which are buses (or rather large vans) that run from one set area of Ankara to another, and back again. You only have to wave one down and it will stop, then start up again, headed for it's destination. The driver doesn't wait for payment, but takes off, so you either claw your way forward or pass your money up through other passengers. These buses come by the main streets every 30-60 seconds, so you can always get a ride (for about 1.20 U.S. dollars, and they run from many areas (imagine such a system for New York City dwellers, from Brooklyn to Manhatten, or Queens, etc. - the streets flooded with these mini buses).
Now it's time for me to go home on my own two feet.
A most interesting difference is in driving. Despite bouts of road rage, we are much more civilized drivers in the U.S. Here cars run pellmell (sp?) everywhere. There are very few stop lights, and no stop signs that I can see, so cars creep into intersections, watching for cars (smaller European models) which seem to weave down the streets and roadways. This may largely be due to the absence of street lines, either down the center of streets or along the shoulders. The major highways may be three or four cars wide, but with an absence of lines cars tend to go everywhere, passing on the right, crowding cars over to one side, forming as many or few lanes as they wish. At 55 miles an hour, it creates quite a liberating feeling (I only have been a passenger, but I don't have too much fear, as everyone has to remain alert since they don't know what the other cars will do). On the narrower streets, u-turns, especially at intersections, are incredibly commonplace, and one more thing to look for when trying to cross the street.
The drivers display a liberal use of the horn here, not the long, leaning on horn of New York City, but several quick taps saying "step back, don't pull out, I'm coming" as they hurtle down the road.
When they do place traffic lights, the cars that stop tend to line up as many as they can fit across the road. This is especially disconcerting when the light is on a traffic circle, so cars stop on a turn, and with an absence of lanes, it resembles the start of some warped car rally. Added to this is that the red starts flashing, to let drivers know the light will soon change. Even more tempting to lead-footed drivers, a few lights have an electric countdown, like a basketball shot clock, that is posted next to the light. 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1... but by then, cars behind are already honking. The installers fortunately created countdown clocks that turn green too, so that you know how many seconds before the light will turn red, so you can speed up to make your light.
Due to the lack of specific markings, etc., I also notice cars go where, at least in the U.S., they shouldn't go. Yesterday I was in a car, and the driver saw a parking spot about 100 yards back. No matter that it was a one-way street, or that it was a three-lane one-way street. He did a quick u-turn and drove into the oncoming traffic, then parallel parked the wrong way, heading into traffic that swept by as if nothing was wrong. When we later left, it only took another u-turn to be on our way.
Added to the cars, there also Dolmus's, which are buses (or rather large vans) that run from one set area of Ankara to another, and back again. You only have to wave one down and it will stop, then start up again, headed for it's destination. The driver doesn't wait for payment, but takes off, so you either claw your way forward or pass your money up through other passengers. These buses come by the main streets every 30-60 seconds, so you can always get a ride (for about 1.20 U.S. dollars, and they run from many areas (imagine such a system for New York City dwellers, from Brooklyn to Manhatten, or Queens, etc. - the streets flooded with these mini buses).
Now it's time for me to go home on my own two feet.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Sokullu Mehmet Cadde, the street which I have walked several times daily, and which extends farther than I care to walk, climbs at a 20 to 30 degree angle. I feel as though I'm prepping to climb the Adirondack 46 again. The heat hasn't let up either, and fans are rare, and airconditioning seems to be for offices only.
I have been trying Turkish dishes. Most of the time I point to the item on a list, and take a chance. My foray into a Kebab house ended up with a plate of thick, round bread (too much to eat, by itself) called pide, with some spicy veal kabob, and a side of peppers and tomatoes. Most meals come with a tomato, cucumber and/or bean and light oil salad. In the U.S., I refrain from eating tomatoes unless they're part of a sauce, but I have had more WHOLE tomatoes in the previous week than I've had in my 42 years. The oils they use blunt the taste and make them pleasant, especially in this heat.
Last night I tried Manti, which resembled large meat filled tortellini, with a tiny bit of a sweet oily sauce. Two women came into the small restaurant to let me know they had made the manti in their home down the street. I was watched (one even pulled up a chair) by the owner, his son, a friend, and the two women as I ate. I think we're just far enough out of the center of Ankara to be an anomoly. The manti was great, the prices are fairly inexpensive, and the father and son spoke some English, so I will bring Silvia and the children some time.
After walking up Sokullu for my meal of manti, it was pleasant to walk down the street in the cooler evening air. Already I am comfortable in my neighborhood. As I passed a grocery store near my apartment, I saw the local garbabe men picking up trash. They had spilled some, and a man was sweeping up the spill. What struck me most was that the broom was only about 2 feet high, as if the stick had been pulled out and only the bristles remain. I see these sold all over, and don't understand, other than due to space, one would care to sweep bent over this way (of course, in Albany, you're lucky if they get all the bags of garbage in the truck).
I realize I am spending more time describing differences between Turkey and the U.S., rather than similarities. This is mostly due to what I bring to my attention. There are obvious similarities between people, and it is the change in practices that I notice most. I am also limited in describing the true essence of the people because of my limited communication skills (it is improving, but I rarely get beyond hello, what is your name, thank you, etc.). What I see so far are people who are open, polite and caring, and they are far more important than all the little details I keep pointing out.
I have been trying Turkish dishes. Most of the time I point to the item on a list, and take a chance. My foray into a Kebab house ended up with a plate of thick, round bread (too much to eat, by itself) called pide, with some spicy veal kabob, and a side of peppers and tomatoes. Most meals come with a tomato, cucumber and/or bean and light oil salad. In the U.S., I refrain from eating tomatoes unless they're part of a sauce, but I have had more WHOLE tomatoes in the previous week than I've had in my 42 years. The oils they use blunt the taste and make them pleasant, especially in this heat.
Last night I tried Manti, which resembled large meat filled tortellini, with a tiny bit of a sweet oily sauce. Two women came into the small restaurant to let me know they had made the manti in their home down the street. I was watched (one even pulled up a chair) by the owner, his son, a friend, and the two women as I ate. I think we're just far enough out of the center of Ankara to be an anomoly. The manti was great, the prices are fairly inexpensive, and the father and son spoke some English, so I will bring Silvia and the children some time.
After walking up Sokullu for my meal of manti, it was pleasant to walk down the street in the cooler evening air. Already I am comfortable in my neighborhood. As I passed a grocery store near my apartment, I saw the local garbabe men picking up trash. They had spilled some, and a man was sweeping up the spill. What struck me most was that the broom was only about 2 feet high, as if the stick had been pulled out and only the bristles remain. I see these sold all over, and don't understand, other than due to space, one would care to sweep bent over this way (of course, in Albany, you're lucky if they get all the bags of garbage in the truck).
I realize I am spending more time describing differences between Turkey and the U.S., rather than similarities. This is mostly due to what I bring to my attention. There are obvious similarities between people, and it is the change in practices that I notice most. I am also limited in describing the true essence of the people because of my limited communication skills (it is improving, but I rarely get beyond hello, what is your name, thank you, etc.). What I see so far are people who are open, polite and caring, and they are far more important than all the little details I keep pointing out.
Friday, August 11, 2006
How about those Mets, huh? As I sit here in one of the many internet cafes, checking sports in the U.S., I marvel at all the contrasts. Around me sit 10 young men playing interactive video games. There's one female here, a woman with her head covered in the Muslim way, but I can't see her screen (doubtful she's playing Doom II). And just outside are peddlers pushing rickety carts crying out their services or wares. These contrasts are everywhere - small, modern markets next to room-sized stores selling individual lightbulbs or foam stuffing.
Yesterday I had to leave the sidewalk to step around a tiny foreign stationwagon filled with lose green beans, halfway up the windows. They had created their own market by unloading the beans into pails on the sidewalk. Another car parked near my apartment and the scruffy driver barked into a microphone; a speaker in the grill announced he was there. The back of his car was open, showing piles of women's underwear for sale (of the rather large, old-fashioned type). Just 7 miles away, however, is a four-story mall that is as slick and modern as any I've seen in the U.S.
Part of my desire to travel to places like Turkey is to see a different way of life, but I fear that over time (decades, or more) economic globalization will produce more modern markets and malls, and push out this other way of life. And I'm contributing, because I'm sitting here in an internet cafe (obviously an old store, with beveled mirrors on two walls, ornate gold and crimson wallpaper, and inlaid marble floors, now filled with rows of fiberboard desks and Samsung computers), and buy my bottled water in the larger markets (about 90 cents for 5 liters).
Maybe I don't understand enough about commercialism, and these small markets will always exist. But I've grown up with the fear of the "Walmart Effect." Right now there are hundreds and hundreds of shops on Sukullo street (within a mile stretch), bustling with people throughout the day and into the late evening. The shops are at street level or below, with two or three stories of dwelling space above. It has the feel of what many city planners now hope for, a thriving community. Already I can see some difficulties, such as when the store keeper has to dash next store to make change (a regular occurance), or when someone buys a cold drink from the cooler, to reveal that there is only one row of cans, stacked in front, to make it look full (and the store clerk makes a quick effort to fill in the stack to present that look). And maybe these aren't difficulties, but the way it should be, with low overhead.
Tomorrow I get to meet Turkan's sister, brother and nephew (Turkan is the wife of my exchange partner in the U.S.), and though only one speaks very limited English, I am looking forward to it. I am to get my mobile phone, which will make me feel that much more secure and independent.
Yesterday I had to leave the sidewalk to step around a tiny foreign stationwagon filled with lose green beans, halfway up the windows. They had created their own market by unloading the beans into pails on the sidewalk. Another car parked near my apartment and the scruffy driver barked into a microphone; a speaker in the grill announced he was there. The back of his car was open, showing piles of women's underwear for sale (of the rather large, old-fashioned type). Just 7 miles away, however, is a four-story mall that is as slick and modern as any I've seen in the U.S.
Part of my desire to travel to places like Turkey is to see a different way of life, but I fear that over time (decades, or more) economic globalization will produce more modern markets and malls, and push out this other way of life. And I'm contributing, because I'm sitting here in an internet cafe (obviously an old store, with beveled mirrors on two walls, ornate gold and crimson wallpaper, and inlaid marble floors, now filled with rows of fiberboard desks and Samsung computers), and buy my bottled water in the larger markets (about 90 cents for 5 liters).
Maybe I don't understand enough about commercialism, and these small markets will always exist. But I've grown up with the fear of the "Walmart Effect." Right now there are hundreds and hundreds of shops on Sukullo street (within a mile stretch), bustling with people throughout the day and into the late evening. The shops are at street level or below, with two or three stories of dwelling space above. It has the feel of what many city planners now hope for, a thriving community. Already I can see some difficulties, such as when the store keeper has to dash next store to make change (a regular occurance), or when someone buys a cold drink from the cooler, to reveal that there is only one row of cans, stacked in front, to make it look full (and the store clerk makes a quick effort to fill in the stack to present that look). And maybe these aren't difficulties, but the way it should be, with low overhead.
Tomorrow I get to meet Turkan's sister, brother and nephew (Turkan is the wife of my exchange partner in the U.S.), and though only one speaks very limited English, I am looking forward to it. I am to get my mobile phone, which will make me feel that much more secure and independent.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
I began to think that my travels and efforts here were taxing me too much, as I was constantly sweating and uncomfortable. Turkey is not supposed to be so hot. Then today, I found a conversion chart, and realized I'd been trekking around Ankara in about 96 degree heat. I'm so tempted to wear shorts and a t-shirt, but that will mark me a foreigner (though I believe there is little doubt anyway).
Today I want to say how impressed I was with the Fulbright program, which hosted a three day orientation in Washington for all the Fulbrighters before we left. It was during the extremely hot days at the start of August, but we were put up in several nice hotels in Alexandria for meetings, informative sessions and just chat time with our exchange partners. At the opening dinner and plenary (yeah, I had to look it up again too), a high ranking politico mentioned a meeting with George W. that week, where (and here he asked if there were any journalists in the room)...the word "despair" was used to describe the world situations at present. Our exchange has as one of its goals to foster empathy between cultures, and so I will be trying to meet as many different people here as possible. Our keynote speaker was the current U.S. national teacher of the year, Kimberly Oliver (which I thought was fairly impressive). Since we only numbered 200, and the lights were up (we were still seated for dinner), I had a great chance to study her as a speaker (I do teach public speaking, after all). I was amused that she used an acronym (heart, as in h is for helping others...) as the basis of her speech, since I teach my students that in a pinch, they can always pull out an acronym and fill 30 or more minutes for a speech (though her speech was well prepared and presented).
It was a pleasure to be in such an international village for a few days (literally - I would sit down at a meal and ask what country the others were from, and where they were headed), and a good lead in to Turkey.
Speaking of Turkey, I must describe our apartment. If you have seen the recent Adidas commercial where a boy plays a game in his dusty yard with imaginary soccer greats, until his mother yells out the window, "Jose, in la casa," then you have seen my apartment and surrounding area. Everything in my neighborhood has a yellow tint to it - due to the light and the buldings and ground. I live in one of many five-six story stucco and brick buildings, surrounded by little dusty cement and dirt courtyards. Everything has the feel of being under construction, but appears to have been this way for quite some time. There is construction going on in the area, which only adds to the dust.
Approximately 150 yards from my apartment is a large cream-colored mosque, with a towering minaret, surrounded by more of these apartment buildings and shops. Five times a day, the ezan, or cry proclaiming that Allah (God) is great is heard, and already I have grown fond of it. The call is in Arabic, and is very beautiful. Last night, when the traffic had quieted, I heard the echo of the ezan 5 times (it is that clear, due to the surrounding hills, and the fact that the ezans are now broadcast over speakers rather than just shouted as in days of old). The hours of the call are supposedly posted in the paper, and the call is from before 5 am to late in the evening, and lasts for about five minutes. If it's possible to miss something before it's even gone, it will be the ezan (Silvia says I'm too sentimental like this, but I don't see that as a weakness).
There are other touches that makes the apartment unique: the large tree stump that was left standing in the paved road in front of our apartment door is interesting, the Muslim women in headscarves that hang their laundry only 10 feet across the drop between their tiny balcony and mine, and the kopoche (sp?) who acts like a superintendent, but brings your order of bread in the morning, and will go stand in line and pay bills, etc.
I already feel at home here, and am looking forward to a wonderful year. If possible I will try to add some pictures on this blog in the near future.
Today I want to say how impressed I was with the Fulbright program, which hosted a three day orientation in Washington for all the Fulbrighters before we left. It was during the extremely hot days at the start of August, but we were put up in several nice hotels in Alexandria for meetings, informative sessions and just chat time with our exchange partners. At the opening dinner and plenary (yeah, I had to look it up again too), a high ranking politico mentioned a meeting with George W. that week, where (and here he asked if there were any journalists in the room)...the word "despair" was used to describe the world situations at present. Our exchange has as one of its goals to foster empathy between cultures, and so I will be trying to meet as many different people here as possible. Our keynote speaker was the current U.S. national teacher of the year, Kimberly Oliver (which I thought was fairly impressive). Since we only numbered 200, and the lights were up (we were still seated for dinner), I had a great chance to study her as a speaker (I do teach public speaking, after all). I was amused that she used an acronym (heart, as in h is for helping others...) as the basis of her speech, since I teach my students that in a pinch, they can always pull out an acronym and fill 30 or more minutes for a speech (though her speech was well prepared and presented).
It was a pleasure to be in such an international village for a few days (literally - I would sit down at a meal and ask what country the others were from, and where they were headed), and a good lead in to Turkey.
Speaking of Turkey, I must describe our apartment. If you have seen the recent Adidas commercial where a boy plays a game in his dusty yard with imaginary soccer greats, until his mother yells out the window, "Jose, in la casa," then you have seen my apartment and surrounding area. Everything in my neighborhood has a yellow tint to it - due to the light and the buldings and ground. I live in one of many five-six story stucco and brick buildings, surrounded by little dusty cement and dirt courtyards. Everything has the feel of being under construction, but appears to have been this way for quite some time. There is construction going on in the area, which only adds to the dust.
Approximately 150 yards from my apartment is a large cream-colored mosque, with a towering minaret, surrounded by more of these apartment buildings and shops. Five times a day, the ezan, or cry proclaiming that Allah (God) is great is heard, and already I have grown fond of it. The call is in Arabic, and is very beautiful. Last night, when the traffic had quieted, I heard the echo of the ezan 5 times (it is that clear, due to the surrounding hills, and the fact that the ezans are now broadcast over speakers rather than just shouted as in days of old). The hours of the call are supposedly posted in the paper, and the call is from before 5 am to late in the evening, and lasts for about five minutes. If it's possible to miss something before it's even gone, it will be the ezan (Silvia says I'm too sentimental like this, but I don't see that as a weakness).
There are other touches that makes the apartment unique: the large tree stump that was left standing in the paved road in front of our apartment door is interesting, the Muslim women in headscarves that hang their laundry only 10 feet across the drop between their tiny balcony and mine, and the kopoche (sp?) who acts like a superintendent, but brings your order of bread in the morning, and will go stand in line and pay bills, etc.
I already feel at home here, and am looking forward to a wonderful year. If possible I will try to add some pictures on this blog in the near future.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
I've finally found an internet cafe that could change the Turkish settings to English. A small but important victory. I have seen so much already to fill half a book. I will start with a simple story to justify the reputation the Turkish have for hospitality.
Ankara is located in a brown, dry hilly area, with a scarcity of trees and green. Most of the buildings are concrete or brick. I spent about 45 minutes on my first full day walking up a street near my apartment, a somewhat curvy road lined with tiny, attached shops, where one can find and buy just about anything. There are a few small supermarkets, but generally the stores specialize (there was even a blacksmith, with part of his shop set up in front by the sidewalk).
The people I passed were a mix of cosmopolitan to conservative. About half of the women wore scarves covering their heads, and the men were all generally dressed in slacks and collared shirts (even the men fixing the streets with shovel and wheelbarrow seemed dressed for a night out).
I was trying to find the telephone company to set up my account, but the phone company I found sent me further up the road (by pointing and speaking in Turkish), so I could not locate the place, and started home. I stopped in an electrical shop (about 10' by 10') and to have some extra keys made and bought a few spare lightbulbs and adapters (everthing for sale was in boxes on the shelves; so I helped look along with the three occupants of the shop). One pleasant looking man about my age named Borush (sp?), spoke a little broken English, and when I tried to explain my quest for the telephone company, he gave me directions that I could understand (light, left. Then, right, etc. about 100 yards away). So I headed back up the street, which slowly climbs, and was near the entrance to the office when Borush showed up, out of breath, to help me in the office. He found me the correct paperwork, and spoke on my behalf, only to find my given address was outdated, so I would need to walk home and come back. Borush accepted my thanks with a "no bother" gesture and rushed ahead of me back to his shop.
When I returned later in the day, I met a telephone company worker named Mehmet, a Turk who had lived mostly in Germany, and wore his black mustache big and bushy. Mehmet invited me behind the counter to sit at his desk, and brought me tea (remember, this is just to set up a telephone account) while he processed my account, apologizing all the time for his bad English.
These little touches keep happening to me, and which quite disarm me. Is it because I am a foreigner, I don't yet know. But individuals like this have made my welcome in Turkey very comforting.
Ankara is located in a brown, dry hilly area, with a scarcity of trees and green. Most of the buildings are concrete or brick. I spent about 45 minutes on my first full day walking up a street near my apartment, a somewhat curvy road lined with tiny, attached shops, where one can find and buy just about anything. There are a few small supermarkets, but generally the stores specialize (there was even a blacksmith, with part of his shop set up in front by the sidewalk).
The people I passed were a mix of cosmopolitan to conservative. About half of the women wore scarves covering their heads, and the men were all generally dressed in slacks and collared shirts (even the men fixing the streets with shovel and wheelbarrow seemed dressed for a night out).
I was trying to find the telephone company to set up my account, but the phone company I found sent me further up the road (by pointing and speaking in Turkish), so I could not locate the place, and started home. I stopped in an electrical shop (about 10' by 10') and to have some extra keys made and bought a few spare lightbulbs and adapters (everthing for sale was in boxes on the shelves; so I helped look along with the three occupants of the shop). One pleasant looking man about my age named Borush (sp?), spoke a little broken English, and when I tried to explain my quest for the telephone company, he gave me directions that I could understand (light, left. Then, right, etc. about 100 yards away). So I headed back up the street, which slowly climbs, and was near the entrance to the office when Borush showed up, out of breath, to help me in the office. He found me the correct paperwork, and spoke on my behalf, only to find my given address was outdated, so I would need to walk home and come back. Borush accepted my thanks with a "no bother" gesture and rushed ahead of me back to his shop.
When I returned later in the day, I met a telephone company worker named Mehmet, a Turk who had lived mostly in Germany, and wore his black mustache big and bushy. Mehmet invited me behind the counter to sit at his desk, and brought me tea (remember, this is just to set up a telephone account) while he processed my account, apologizing all the time for his bad English.
These little touches keep happening to me, and which quite disarm me. Is it because I am a foreigner, I don't yet know. But individuals like this have made my welcome in Turkey very comforting.
