Markets, Washing Machines, and Baby Sheep

I broke my jet lag avoidance rule and let myself take a nap yesterday, so here I am at 4:20 with ideas swirling around in my head, unable to sleep.

Yesterday Ferayal took me to the shopping mall where I bought home products (linens, dishes, food, etc.). She also took me to buy a cell phone, then helped me to choose a cell phone company that gave me my phone number and activated my phone, then she helped me buy contours, or phone credits so that my phone would work. Lastly we went to the market where we bought produce. She showed me how to buy produce –what is good, what isn’t – with much higher standards than we demand at our supermarkets. The villagers come in to town every Wednesday and Sunday to sell their produce and textiles at a huge husting open-air market..

Throughout the day she insisted on treating me; first it was lunch, then Turkish coffee, and then produce at the market. At the supermarket, I (rather skillfully, I thought) mimed to the clerk that I would pay for the drinks. Ferayal told her in Turkish that I was her guest, and the clerk promptly refused my money and took Ferayal’s instead. Turks have a strong ethic of taking care of their guests and showing them true hospitality.

Without Ferayal’s help, I have no idea how I would have done all of that. For instance, the cell phone system is extremely different here than it is in the U.S. Instead of signing up for a plan with a company, people buy counturs(sp) which are basically cell minute credits that must be used in 3 months. You continue to recharge your phone with these credits. Calls to cell phones of your provider are cheapest, calls to cell phone holders who use different providers are more, calls to land lines cost more still, and whether calling or receiving, out-of-country calls will cost you an arm and a leg. Although people know the gradation, no one really knows exactly how many contours for each item. As far as I can tell, it is a diabolical plan on the part of the cell phone companies.

When I got home I decided I’d take a try at the washing machine. The similarities the washers here share with the ones at home follow: they are white, box-shaped, and I’m pretty sure they use water and electricity. Beyond that, there were tons of buttons with bewildering pictures that are intuitive to some Turkish industrial designer. There were also a number of signs in the laundry room punctuated with copious exclamation points elaborating some message that all users should be aware of before doing laundry. My pocket dictionary contained about ¼ of the words on the sign.

One hour later, I had a still dirty and now half-soaked blanket. I caught up with a woman walking down the stairs and asked if she spoke English. Edin did not speak English, but she came up and mimed to me that the washer I had chose was broken. Only one of the set of three worked.

A few minutes later her son, Okan, knocked on my door. Edin had alerted her son that I needed remedial home-economics training. Her son speaks some English and he explained/mimed how to use the machine.

A few minutes later still, my landline rang for the first time. Okan wondered if I liked coffee and would I join them in room 206. I agreed. Since my room is 204, it seemed that their room, 206, should be rather near. Later I would find that it is two floors above me and on the other wing of the building. I couldn’t find it, so I returned to my room. About 15 minute later, Okan found me wandering around with a trash bag in my hand. Giving me a quizzical look after I put together what my dictionary and travel book represented as a well-formed sentence asking where I’d find the dumpster, he took the bags, walked across the street, and dumped them in the dumpster.

Okan, a Ph.D. candidate in statistics, shares a room the size of mine with his mother. The rooms in this building are the size of a small motel room with a bathroom, a mini-fridge, and a sink. Mine also has a bed, a chair that folds out to be a bed, a kitchen table/desk, two small chairs, and a bedside table. In my mind I had been going over plans to convince the powers that be that I needed something larger, but when I saw that both Okan and his mother lived in the same space that I live in, I became immediately more content with my lot. Okan has two computers, a huge flat-screen monitor on which he somehow gets television stations, and, wonder of all wonders, high-speed Internet. He assured me that he could help me get Internet in my room too. Tomorrow he will go out and buy the requisite cable and then help me to get hooked up. Skype, here I come.

We had apples, grapes, tea, and pastries. When I left Okan’s mother told him to tell me that I was her “baby sheep” while I was here, and that she would help me. If ever I was hungry, I should come by and she would cook for me. It reminded me of something I read once, that all travel is essentially meeting new people and convincing them that they want to take care of you. In Turkey it seems that one doesn’t have to do a lot of convincing.

Turkish Hospitality, Ramazan, and Kurds

Today made me understand why everyone who has been to Turkey talks about how welcoming the Turks are. First Ahmet, a faculty member of the education department, came to pick me up at my place to take me to school, so that I wouldn’t have to take the bus on the first day. He drove me to school and even drove around the campus to show me the exact stop where I would be getting off the bus tomorrow.

He took me to my office which I share with Ferayal and another woman whom I’ve not yet met. Ferayal is a vivacious and extremely well-read professor in the education department. Her Ph.D. is in literature, but she teaches everything. My desk was ready for me with a computer and a high-speed Internet connection. Ferayal asked me when my birthday is (January 18th), and she promptly presented me with an early birthday gift – a small carpet to “add some color” to my room. I met Berna, the research assistant and another faculty member Nesryn, who just passed her Ph.D. oral defense.

When Ferayal noticed that I was having trouble navigating the computer menus in Turkish, she made a call to the computer lab and three computer students were promptly sent to fix the problem. While they were adjusting my settings to English, the girl’s stomach growled loudly. Ferayal offered her a piece of candy, but the young woman declined because she is fasting for Ramadan. Later Ferayal offered the young man fixing the computer something to eat, but he also declined. He said that although he was not fasting, out of respect for those who are, he preferred not to eat in front of them.

I later asked Nesryn about the meaning of Ramadan (Ramazan here in Turkey). Why do people fast? She explained that it is a lunar month set aside for fasting from sunset till sundown – that means no water, no food, no cigarettes, nothing. The fasting is to remind Muslims what it is like to go without. For one month a year, they are to experience what it feels like to be hungry so that they may build empathy for those who truly are. Women who are pregnant or nursing, children, the old, and the infirm are not expected to observe the fast. I think that few if any of my colleagues are fasting although I think they keep the spirit of Ramazan close to them.

At the end of Ramazan, a three-day festival called Baryan will be celebrated. Each household that can afford it slaughters a goat. The goat is to be divided into thirds. One-third goes to the poor. Nasryn says that some people are so destitute that this is the only time their families are able to eat meat. Another third goes to one’s neighbors, and the last third goes to the household for a feast. Neighbors then go door-to-door to share food and celebrate in everyone’s house. What important society values that Islam encourages – to care for people less fortunate, to share your bounty with them, and to engender community.

I am stunned at the level of sophistication of the teachers here. Although they seem to be relatively young, they are not only well-versed in their Ph.D. field, but they have an extremely in-depth knowledge of other fields such as linguistics, ESL, teaching methodology, as well as many publications to their names. Almost all teaching in higher-education here is in English. The faculty is completely fluent, and I expect that the students will also have excellent English skills.

Nasryn invited me to her home for lunch/dinner. She first walked me down the pedestrian mall (most neighborhoods have one), where you can buy just about anything you want. We stopped and she bought ingredients for kofta – a Turkish meatball. Nasryn is from southeastern Turkey and she is a Kurd. Although Kurds fought in the war for Turkish independence, they were not given the recognition or freedoms they were promised after the republic was established. In fact, they were persecuted in much the same way that blacks were in post-Civil War U.S. Until recently, it was illegal to teach the Kurdish language in schools. Even today the Kurds in Turkey have substandard schools and their home geographic regions have little infrastructure. The language is taught at only a few private schools, and their political parties are often abolished by the government as soon as they are formed. It was really interesting to speak with her because I was warned repeatedly not to broach the subject of Kurds or Armenians with (non-Kurdish) Turkish people.

Although I said that I would post pictures on my blog, my camera, unfortunately, bit the dust today. It has been slowly dying, but usually tapping it makes it work for a few more shots. I had to resort to rather hard “tapping”, and I don’t believe it will be working again.

Doubts

Ferayal came by around 9:30 p.m. and delivered groceries to me – water, apples, pizza, ice tea, and a delicious salad of tasty greens and tomatoes. I feel very alone right now. No Internet connection to talk to my family.

I’ve blown the power out in my room at least 20 times trying to find the right union between Turkish outlets, my adapters, my voltage converter, and my appliances. Seems some are grounded; others are not, and plugging in a grounded appliances to a non-grounded outlet has seriously bad consequences such as leaping sparks and loud cracks.

Still can’t get power to my laptop, so I am trying to use it judiciously.

I miss Duncan and Kirk, my friends, my family, my home. I am beginning to realize all of the good things I’ve given up to come here. I hope it is worth it.

I doubt there is any way I can get Internet in my room. The a/c doesn’t seem to work, and my screen won’t fit into my window. The maintenance man doesn’t speak English and my Turkish is abominable. I am not even sure if the infrastructure in Ïzmir would allow for a high-speed connection. That would sure be nice because I wouldn’t feel so isolated her at 3:24 in the morning, no one to talk to. What if I just ran out in the hallway and started screaming, would anybody come out to help?

Arrival

I arrived in Izmir today after about 22 hours of travel. Professor Ferayal Çubukçu and Ahmet came to collect me and 150 lbs of luggage at the airport. They whisked me to my housing, and, assuming I’d be exhausted, left me here to sleep. Ferayal tried to make me promise not to leave the housing, but I knew that I’d need to go out and get some food or something, which I did. When they left, I walked into the bathroom and realized that while “freshening up” before meeting them at the airport I had put my shirt on wrong-side-out (and obviously so). So much for good impressions.

I am surprised at how little I can actually communicate here. At least in France, Spain, Italty, Germany. . .there are some cognates, but here, nothing is familiar. I managed to buy some ayran (a salty yogurt drink) olives, trash can, and toilet paper by pointing and mumbling something like “thank you”.

My studio is very small – the size of my kitchen at home, but I think it will be sufficient. On the plus side, I think it will be harder to lose things in a place this size, and cleaning should be easy.