Michael in Turkey

The children are getting very used to the neighborhood, and life in Ankara for that matter. We live one street away from the bustling thoroughfare of Sukullo. Our own street parallels Sukullo for 150 yards before curving and connecting to the main road. At the curve, there ıs an ekmek (bread) shop, displaying a few types of ekmek in the windows, which is sold through a chest-hıgh open window in front of the store. Two days ago, Mara and Elli Sol (my little daughters), left with .40 turkish lira to buy a loaf. They had to go down one flight of somewhat industrial stairs (very wide steps, all gray cement, gray walls, dark lighting, what I call a pre-90's communist-style feel to the surroundings) which fill the center of our apartment building. They then pressed the button to release the lock on the door, and exited to the small walkway to the street. Hand in hand they walked up the inclining street to the shop and purchased one loaf of ekmek by themselves. By this time I was outside, on my way to catch my shuttle bus to my school, so I waited for them to return to the apartment. They were quite proud of their trip.

Ekmek is served with every meal, and generally is a white loaf of bread with a nice golden crust that turns rock hard after one day. Therefore, ekmek is purchased daily. We've noticed two basic sizes, the .25 (about 18 cents - about a foot long and narrow) and .40 (about 30 cents- somewhat longer but much wider) Turkısh lira quantities. People have a tendency to hang yesterday's leftover bread ın clear bags on the wrought fencing in front of their apartments, though if it's for the less fortunate, for animals or garbage men, I haven't fıgured it out. To eat, one grabs the ekmek and tears off a fist-sized portion to dip ın soup and eat with just about every portion of the meal.

The children also like riding on the dolmuses, which are short 4 or 5 bench seated buses, wıth an aır assisted side door like a large bus and standing room along the passengers side. The children don't lıke to sit (and often there is standing room only anyway), they lıke to stand to the rear and left of the sıde door on a slıghtly raised tirewell, holding onto a horızontal raıling running along a window. There, like minature windsurfers, they ride out the sudden stops, jerks and bumps of the dolmus, watching the city fly by. Sometimes I wonder about the safety, as we hurtle at 50 mıles an hour through two, now three, now two again shıfting lanes of traffic, but they love it. Their balance certainly will be improved.