My Two Cents & Misconceptions

Per usual, this post is long overdue.

I'll start by saying things have been going well here in Bursa.

Lots of work, lots of shitty beer, lots of food, lots of exploring.

Content for now, but also looking forward to my next adventure (I'm looking at you, Cape Town).

Funnily enough, the bulk of this post will actually have very little to do with Turkey and more to do with my own country.

When I arrived in Turkey, I was a little nervous about being an American.  Considering the somewhat perpetual state of unrest in this area of the world that America has greatly contributed to as well as the anti-Muslim sentiments projected by certain members of our society, I thought that I might experience some long-harbored resentment from people.  Much to my surprise and delight, Turks welcomed me with open arms.

Everyone was very curious about America.  They had many questions about life in the United States and they loved hearing the American accent.

However, as time went on, my initial excitement at their enthusiasm for my country began to wear thin.

I began to realize that the idea of the "American Dream" that has disillusioned so many people in my own country, with the help of all forms of media, has managed to spread around the world.

So, when I tell people about the healthcare system in the United States or the absurd growth rate of college tuition, or the fact that, 150 years after the end of the American Civil War, racism continues to be a prevalent issue in American society, they are left slack-jawed and astonished.

You see, when they watch American movies or TV series, they believe that the physical America, 6500 miles away, is the same place that is shown to them on the screen.

Full of equality, happiness, and beautiful people who like to party.

If only.

Naturally, as a concerned citizen, I have been following the news in the US especially that surrounding the 2016 presidential election and I am struggling to find the words to describe how utterly sickened I am by this new wave of aforementioned anti-Muslim sentiments.

I realize that it is only a percentage of the population that supports the ridiculous idea that Islam = terrorism.  However, I do encourage all Americans, myself included, to take a step back and actually ask yourself how much you know about the religion.

What do you think of when you think of Islam?

Women in veils and men in turbans?

Honestly, before I came here, I'll admit that my knowledge of the religion didn't extend much further than these stereotypes.

But they are just that -

Stereotypes.

For example, turbans are generally not worn in Islamic culture and, when you see someone walking down the street wearing a turban, it is, most likely, not a Muslim man but a practicing Sikh.  Sikhism is a monotheistic religion that originated in South Asia in the 15th century.

As far as the veil (or the hijab) goes, I know a lot of western women that get up in arms about women's rights, etc, etc.  However, depending on the country (from what I understand), the wearing of the hijab by women is a choice based on interpretation of the teachings of Islam.  When women do choose to wear a veil, it is not seen as oppressive or detrimental to women's equality.  Rather, a practice of modesty and a means to desexualize women and protect them from harassment or unwanted sexual advances thus allowing them to enjoy equal rights in the public sphere. (I would again like to emphasize the fact that these customs and beliefs can change depending on the country.)

**takes a breath**

My students are Muslims.

And they are some of the kindest, most compassionate, and entertaining people that I have had the pleasure to meet.

There are misconceptions and stereotypes everywhere.

It is the nature of the world we live in.

But, if we can take the time to educate ourselves and learn the truth about these issues, it will be a step in the right direction.

And, of course there's nothing that I can say here that hasn't already been written about by some online publication or someone on social media, so I guess, as usual, I'm using my blog as a kind of outlet for my own feelings and frustrations.

Am I proud to be an American?

Not always.

That being said I do think our country has a great deal of potential and that we should not waste it by giving attention to fools and bigots like Donald Trump.

I do think we can "make America great again", but the answer is not extreme nationalism with bad hair.

The Myth vs. The Man

Everyone has those few television programs that they can watch over and over again.

Mine include: Friends, How I Met Your Mother, Desperate Housewives, and I'm sure I could think of a few more.

I am currently involved in a close and personal relationship with the four main characters from Sex and the City, as I binge watch my way (for the second or third time) through the 6 seasons.

I don't put a lot of stock in the life lessons that Carrie Bradshaw attempts to convey through her newspaper column that goes by the same name as the series.  The show has elements of sexism, misogyny, classism, and ageism.  In addition, it often shows both women and men in a really terrible light and it paints a very unrealistic view of life in New York City (since when can a writer of a weekly column about sex and romantic relationships afford 100+ pairs of Manolo Blahniks and a studio apartment on the Upper East Side?).

That being said, I am pretty easily sucked into the exciting lives of the four fabulous 30-something friends that drink cosmopolitans, go out to brunch, and complain about their various dating escapades and sexcapades.

I will also give credit where credit is due.

Sure, the show is full of terrible stereotypes.  But stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason -- they happen.  And, for better or for worse, they will probably continue to happen.

I don't necessarily agree with a popular TV show perpetuating these stereotypes for six seasons, but I digress.

Carrie Bradshaw is the somewhat air-headed and scatter-brained protagonist in the show and over the course of the 6 seasons, she blindly plows her way through a series of relationships.

(WARNING: SPOILERS BELOW)

A pretty common, however trivial, debate when it comes to the show --

Aidan Shaw vs. Mr. Big.

Aidan -- the husky, furniture designer/builder, with a house in the country and a heart of gold.

Mr. Big -- the typical arrogant asshole that we all kind of love to hate.

I was always an Aidan fan.

I loved the whole "business in the city, heart in the country", ruggedly handsome, dog-owning, non-smoking vibe.

And he really loved Carrie.  He even gave her another chance after she cheated on him with a married Mr. Big!

He was so totally my type.

I mean what's not to love?

But this time around, I, like Carrie, gave Mr. Big yet another chance.

And I think I may finally understand.

Mr. Big, with all of his commitment issues and his betrayals of trust, is only human.

He made some mistakes.

But ultimately he was able to pull his head out of his ass in time to track down Carrie in Paris to tell her that she was "the one".  And that's what really counts, right?

It just took him a little longer to realize than it took the rest of us.

No matter how good someone is on paper or whether they are "so totally your type", if you don't have the zsa zsa zu (refer to season 5, episode 8), then they're not "the one".

Tell me I'm wrong.

Katie Cawley channelling a little Carrie Bradshaw for a change.

I have been watching too much SATC.

The Chill.

I arrived in Istanbul on September 1, at the end of the summer, in the middle of a massive heat wave.

Or maybe that's just normal for Turkey....

Thank goodness, the place we where we were staying in Taksim was well-equipped. By which I mean... it had air conditioning.

However, after the few days in Istanbul, I returned with Ryan to Bursa -- the first major capital of the Ottoman Empire, the fourth largest city in Turkey, home to the mountain Uludağ and the Iskender Kebap -- my new home.

My new home is also on the top floor of a five story apartment building and... wait for it.... has no AC.

Boo.

So, it's been pretty hot.

After the first few 100º days, the temperatures began to drop slightly and I began to get used to the heat (as much as I could, being from Vermont).

But I've been a little jealous of all of my friends posting pictures of apple-picking and pumpkin spice lattes (which they actually have in Turkey, strangely enough).  I guess it's made me kind of nostalgic for autumn on the East Coast, especially in New England.

Then, yesterday, it rained.

All day.

Halle-fucking-lujah.

Because right now it's 63º.

Ryan is wearing a sweatshirt.

I didn't wake up in a pool of sweat at all last night.

I went for a run this morning and had to wear a long-sleeved shirt.

And, right now, I am happily (not to mention comfortably) curled up on the couch, with a hot cup of coffee, wearing long pants, and not positively dreading the idea of going to stand over the hot stove to cook breakfast (brunch?).

So, happy fall from a happy girl.

Endless love.

This is life.... in Turkey.

In the 3 weeks that I have been in Turkey, I have been told that I am beautiful, quite possibly, more than I have been told so in my entire life.

Great.

Who doesn't like being told they're beautiful?

I'm just not always sure it's genuine.

Not to say that people are secretly calling me hideous behind my back, rather that Turkish culture seems to be kind of obsessed with the idea of beauty.

Like, of all compliments, the one a woman would most like to hear is that she is beautiful.

Not intelligent or charming or charismatic.

Just beautiful.

I have been introduced to new students as the "new teacher who is also very beautiful".

I have been told by my students that I "have a great accent", that I am "energetic and fun", but these compliments are always followed by "....and of course you are so beautiful."

People also like commenting on my beauty to Ryan.

Again, it's not like I hate being called beautiful.  It's always a nice thing to hear. 

However, I don't think my physical appearance really has much to do with my teaching abilities.

And I like to think that my boyfriend is with me for at least a few reasons other than how pretty I am. 

It's a different culture.

And I knew going into it, that being a woman would be a very different experience in Turkey than it is in other areas of the world where I have lived and travelled.

And for the most part, Turkey has surprised me.

Before I left home, I did quite a bit of reading up on what it was like to travel and live in Turkey as a woman --

A lot of people warned against it.

A lot of people gave strict lists of what women can and cannot wear.

And a lot of people gave advice as to how a woman should act towards men.

Apparently all of these people need to chill the fuck out.

I'm sure it helps that Ryan and I are usually together, but I never feel unsafe here.

I can wear a tank top or a dress that shows my knees and... drumroll... no one cares.

And, while our interactions are limited due to the language barrier, the people here have been so kind and hospitable.

I guess it's just little differences that I notice.

I get a lot of strange stares when I am running in the park.

Maybe it's because I'm the only person running.

The number of strange stares escalated the day I wore shorts.

So now I wear pants.

And the one night that I went out to run errands while Ryan was at school, people seemed very skeptical of the fact that I was out alone at that time of night (approx. 8pm).

So maybe, from now on, I run my errands during the day.

And the "you are so beautiful" thing.

Worse things have happened.

Pideli Köfte

Greetings from Bursa.

I'm not here to write something profound about cultural differences or personal fulfillment, so if that's what you're expecting, I suggest you stop reading now -- but, I think this will be worth your while.

Bear with me.

For months now, Ryan has been telling me about Pideli Köfte -- a local dish here in Bursa.

Bread, meat, tomato, yogurt, butter.

Sure, sounds good. Sounds fattening. Sounds... dare I say it?... Sounds Ryan.

One thing's for damn sure, doesn't sound like anything I would eat with any degree of frequency.

(Um, hi, where is the spinach?)

But, after a few exciting (albeit exhausting) days in Istanbul, we arrived in Bursa and I decided to humor him.

So, after walking around Bursa a bit, we reached the Pideli Köfte street.

Yes, a street full of restaurants that serve... wait for it... Pideli Köfte.

So we're peacefully walking along, when out of nowhere, all of the employees standing in front of one restaurant start loudly greeting Ryan -- shaking his hand, patting him on the back, and talking animatedly.

Clearly he's a regular.

...Not too shocking.

They herded us over to a table and hospitably pulled out the chairs for us.  One man brought over another chair and gestured for me to put my bags in it.

They automatically knew what we were there for.

They brought us a dish of pickles, dried cherries, and hot peppers and left us to wait for our food.

Very shortly, they brought us each a plate and set them in front of us.

A layer of bread, a side of delicious yogurt, a couple slices of tomato, all topped with eight (or so) meatballs.

Sounds good, right?

Wait! There's more.

This first server was directly followed by a second, carrying a pan of sizzling hot, melted butter which he proceeded to (generously) pour over each of our plates.

Sure, I cringed a little bit, but I also know that melted butter is delicious.

So I dove right in.

The verdict?

It was worth the hype.

I think the Turks just know how to make food taste good.

Add butter.

Always add butter.

So cheers to them for doing what everyone else is too timid to do.

Pideli Köfte is delicious.

What's in store.

So remember a few months back when I was leaving for South America and I was stressed and crazy and crying and bullet-pointing all over the place?

Well, I like to think that I learn from my mistakes.

Tomorrow, I'm going to Turkey.

To live.

For awhile.

*gasp*

***

I got home from camp on Monday night.

I took the rest of that night and the following day to decompress and, promptly, set to unpacking and repacking on Wednesday.

Initially, I meant to unpack from camp and repack for Turkey.

However, it turned into unpacking from camp, packing for Turkey, unpacking for Turkey, repacking for Turkey, etc.

The fact of the matter being that, a process that could have taken an afternoon, ended up taking four days.

But I'm done! (For the most part)

***

When I say that I learn from my mistakes, I am mostly referencing the fact that I left all of my packing for South America until the very last minute.

This time, giving myself a full week, allowed for the peace of mind that came from unpacking and repacking so many times.

It has also given me time to relax and come to terms with what I am about to do.

In the spirit for "pre-travel bulletpoints", here are some of the things (apart from packing and unpacking and repacking) that I have done in my week at home.

• I've eaten really good food.
• Washed the "camp" off all of my clothes.
• I've spent quality time with my parents.
• I've consumed a collective seven beers.
• I've run a collective 12 miles.
• I've done some yoga.
• I've watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Scream, Seeking a Friend for the End of the World, Searching for Sugar Man, and Bridget Jones' Diary -- all interspersed with episodes of Friends.
• I listened to nearly the entire Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince audiobook.
• I made a trip to Burlington to spend some time with some quality humans.
• And I've said my "see you soons".

***

Similar to my trip to South America, there has been a lot of build up leading to this adventure.  However, unlike  my trip to South America, on the night before my departure, rather than feeling anxious and sad, I feel strangely at peace with the idea.

That being said, I still have over 24 hours until my flight leaves, I'm sure I'll have my moments.

But it's nice, after so much build up, to still know that I'm doing the right thing.

***

Faithful readers might also recall that I was very sad when I was getting ready to leave for my trip this past January.

I had just said goodbye to my boyfriend, Ryan, as he left the United States after a month of Vermont winter shenanigans.

This time, he will be waiting for me at the airport in Istanbul.

So that's that.

I'll see you all soon.

Plates and Glue

As fate would have it - I have returned to summer camp in Connecticut for the third summer in a row.

Amid stifling heatwaves, ever-growing fatigue, lousy food, and an overwhelming sense of anticipation, I have found solace in spending time with close friends, making jewelry, planning my next adventure, and batiking a wall-hanging (my left and right hand are green and blue, respectively).

And as always, I find solace at camp in the little moments that are somehow not so little.

There have been a few.

Here is one of them.

About a month ago, I was on the main porch one night; the kids had gone to bed, the mosquitoes had come out, and the air felt slightly cool and damp.

I saw a friend sitting on the edge of the porch, in the shadows, looking a little sad.

So I walked up to her and asked her how she was doing.

She replied that everything was okay, but I remained unconvinced.

So I asked again.

Her response was roughly as follows -

"In my country, we have a saying:

When you drop a plate, it breaks.

You can pick up all of the pieces.

You can glue it back together meticulously.

But it will never be the same again.

The cracks will always be there."

We continued talking and she further explained the situation that she was applying this metaphor to.  Without really knowing whether what I was saying had any semblance of truth to it, I reassured her that I was sure that everything would be fine.

It may seem an anti-climactic anecdote, I just think there is a kind of melancholy truth to the plate metaphor.

Despite the somewhat gloomy undertones of the saying, one must think about what the cracks mean. The plate may be marred, but do the cracks make it more interesting? Do they give the plate a story?

Maybe I'm being too optimistic.

The cracks would make the plate more fragile; if it were to be dropped again, it would certainly break even more easily than the first time.

Maybe I'm thinking too much about the durability of plates.

Regardless, it was high time for a check-in.  I'll leave the plate analysis up to you.

Big things coming, folks.