arbiturkey [ˈɑːbɪtɜːki] adjective : 1. Turkish citing of historical 'facts' which are subject to individual will or judgment without restriction, e.g., He made the arbiturkey statement, "In Mevlana's time, people were two meters tall." 2. bureaucratic regulations which seem random at best, e.g., I can't understand the seemingly arbiturkey and ever-fluctuating rules surrounding the proper handling of residence permits.
turknology [tɜːkˈnɒlədʒɪ] noun : jumbled balls of exposed wiring, house walls propped up with old olive oil cans, or other such innovative solutions to everyday problems of modernity
Showing posts with label arbiturkey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label arbiturkey. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Eastern Adventures
The week after I gave my first exams I had another first...I took my first trip towards the east of Turkey. In fact, I ended up going almost as far east as one can possibly go before winding up in Iran (Doğubayazıt, Turkey). I visited not one, but two famous mountains, I went to churches built before America was even discovered, and I saw both sacred fish and a famous breed of cat (not in the same city, however). But I get ahead of myself. Even though this trip was only five days long (the week after midterms, students have what they call a "head vacation", or a week when they just ditch classes to go home and let their mothers do their laundry), it it was so jam-packed that it will take a couple of posts to do it justice. Without further ado...
Kahta and Mt. Nemrut
Mt. Nemrut is a darling of the Turkish tourism bureau. They simply love putting pictures of the ancient stone heads of uncertain origins on various propaganda. As a result, tourists such as myself are drawn to the top of this mountain they would probably otherwise not pay any heed to. One of the starting points for the ascent is the town of Kahta, which, I was later informed, is known as the “rip-off capital of Turkey” or somesuch by the guidebooks. My companions and I did not really get ripped off there, but Kahta, in mild terms, was not a favorable introduction to the East for me. (Happily other cities would prove better.) It is a man-dominated town and with a pervasive aura of utter depression. It wasn't long, though, before we were in a dolmuş speeding towards the base camp of Mt. Nemrut, with several stops to see ancient things in between. The countryside surrounding Mt. Nemrut is absolutely gorgeous (as is the east in general, as I would learn).
Possibly the sketchiest ferry I've ever seen. Possibly. For a few minutes I lived in fear that we were going to try to drive on to it.
This is the approach to Mt. Nemrut. You have to hire a driver to get even close to the mountain because it is so far away from the nearest towns. In any case, right before we got to this hill we were stopped by local gendarmes for a routine roadside ID check. Our driver, however, had no ID, no money, and no registration for the bus. He got out of our bus and slowly approached the gendarmes' van with a wry look in his eye as we all watched anxiously from within. Eventually we saw him laughing, and decided that this was probably not a good sign. He sauntered back to the bus and explained: "I used to be a firefighter in town. I would bring the water to the men. I told them, are you remembering me? I was bringing you the water. Maybe I don't bring you water any more. So they say to me, 'Yes, we remember, you can go.' Ha ha ha. Maybe I not bring them water, ha ha." So...our driver quite literally carried a lot of water in that town. He told us that story triumphantly about four more times during the day.
There they are, all majestic and whatnot. They were really cool but the climb was a bit snowy (i.e. treacherous). Also there is a chain in front of them so you can no longer get right up next to them, unlike what pictures of past tourists might have you believe.
Stay tuned for more Eastern Adventures!
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Amasya: Fact or Fiction?
I think the Black Sea is my favorite region of Turkey so far. I have not been to the East yet, because I generally fear the snow and cold, but something about the hilly, misty, verdant Black Sea coast really appeals to me.
As that intro may have suggested, Amasya is more or less in the Black Sea region of Turkey. It is one of those places that has been inhabited for years and years, so its local ethnography museum has some great artifacts (and TERRIFYING mostly-exposed mummies of sultans in glass cases, shudder). It also has not one but TWO museums filled with historically informative wax mannequins in two Ottoman-style buildings along the river which are only mildly frightening but overall pretty awesome.
This is what Amasya looks like at night.
The below photo was taken from the bus stop outside of the Education Sciences faculty of Amasya University. Can you spot the reason that I took a picture of the side of a hill?
That's right, our favorite statesman's face is hewn into the living rock...of Amasya.
The below photo is of a statue on the side of the Yeşilırmak river. The river basically anchors the downtown area and makes Amasya seem larger than it really is. As an aside, one of the best breakfasts in recent memory was eaten along the banks of the Yeşilırmak river at a restaurant called Strabon, which I think deserves some kind of plaque for feeding as many Fulbright guests as it has, because if a Fulbrighter visits the Amasya ETA duo, they will probably eat at this restaurant. The gözleme (like a Turkish crepe, usually with cheese inside), which is available only on Sundays, is worth the trip.
So, the legend the statue is based on has uncertain origins, and obviously the Turks claimed it as their own. The nearby mountain Ferhat is named for the hero of the legend, who for love of the princess Şirin tried to win her father's favour and permission to marry her by tunneling through the mountain to bring spring water to his palace. While he was doing this, someone informed him that the princess had died and so he threw himself onto the rocks post-haste. It turns out the princess was not dead, but after hearing the news of her lover's death she also died. Turkish authorities put a fence and a sign by a small channel in the side of the mountain which basically reads "This is definitely the channel from that legend, although historians really don't know if the story is true or where it actually happened." That's how Turkey rolls.
As that intro may have suggested, Amasya is more or less in the Black Sea region of Turkey. It is one of those places that has been inhabited for years and years, so its local ethnography museum has some great artifacts (and TERRIFYING mostly-exposed mummies of sultans in glass cases, shudder). It also has not one but TWO museums filled with historically informative wax mannequins in two Ottoman-style buildings along the river which are only mildly frightening but overall pretty awesome.
This is what Amasya looks like at night.
The below photo was taken from the bus stop outside of the Education Sciences faculty of Amasya University. Can you spot the reason that I took a picture of the side of a hill?
That's right, our favorite statesman's face is hewn into the living rock...of Amasya.
The below photo is of a statue on the side of the Yeşilırmak river. The river basically anchors the downtown area and makes Amasya seem larger than it really is. As an aside, one of the best breakfasts in recent memory was eaten along the banks of the Yeşilırmak river at a restaurant called Strabon, which I think deserves some kind of plaque for feeding as many Fulbright guests as it has, because if a Fulbrighter visits the Amasya ETA duo, they will probably eat at this restaurant. The gözleme (like a Turkish crepe, usually with cheese inside), which is available only on Sundays, is worth the trip.
So, the legend the statue is based on has uncertain origins, and obviously the Turks claimed it as their own. The nearby mountain Ferhat is named for the hero of the legend, who for love of the princess Şirin tried to win her father's favour and permission to marry her by tunneling through the mountain to bring spring water to his palace. While he was doing this, someone informed him that the princess had died and so he threw himself onto the rocks post-haste. It turns out the princess was not dead, but after hearing the news of her lover's death she also died. Turkish authorities put a fence and a sign by a small channel in the side of the mountain which basically reads "This is definitely the channel from that legend, although historians really don't know if the story is true or where it actually happened." That's how Turkey rolls.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Musings
I have been here several months now. It's time for me to start generalizing about Turkey with more authority. There are lots of things to love about Turkey, and happily I have found more to like than dislike. Unfortunately I don't think I can ever truly share my reasons for loving Turkey with a Turkish person, because they will never understand the appeal.
Turkish hospitality does live up to the constant praise it receives in the guidebooks, but it also manifests itself in unexpected ways. Generally I would describe Turkish people as much more communal than Americans. Helping those around you is of the utmost social importance. There are the functional, practical aspects of life that have given rise to this attitude--for example, there are still town bread ovens in use (seriously--soon you will probably be able to get free wifi at the village oven while you wait for your food to cook). But there is also a tacit or explicit resistance to the American style (also known by Turks as the "European" style) of strict, "pulling-oneself-up-by-the-bootstraps" individuality that makes up such an important part of our culture. While individual drive is of course important, it is couched in the idea of putting everyone else before oneself. My interpretation of Turkish ambition is that in order to be able to provide for your friends and family, and in order to be a spectacular host, you need to earn money and have things. One improves one's position in life not just for personal gain, but in order to be that person who grabs the check at the end of the meal and says "It's on me," or to be able to afford a room with an extra bed in case anyone needs to stay the night. Of course, there are greedy, selfish people in Turkey, but just as a reminder I am dealing in generalizations and ideals in this blog post.
There are some other more lighthearted things I love about Turkey. PowerTurk, the Top 40 music channel that one can expect to see on TV's everywhere from the home of a friend to the trendiest restaurant (provided there is not a futbol match happening), is like a good friend who is always around and ready to have a good time. It's not quite as ubiquitous as teacups or likenesses of Atatürk, but it comes close. And I've come to love congregating with friends around coal-burning stoves (soba), the best example of which was that time one of my Turkish friends straight up set fire to an old pair of jeans in his soba, the flames of which we eventually used to roast chestnuts and make tea. ("Pants?!" I exclaimed in Turkish when seeing him do this. "They were old," he replied, matter of factly, with a shrug suggesting I was being some kind of pants-burning prude.) Sobalar are awesome, coal fumes notwithstanding.
Then there a things that I like about Turkey but will definitely never get used to seeing. Turkish men love their man-bags, for one. I think there is an unwritten but important rule that men over 30 must carry a small, square handbag which may or may not contain nothing but a wallet (shoulder strap optional). And speaking of men over 30, I will never be able to take them seriously when they drive around pumping Inna or other hot techno beats, sometimes with their families in tow. I also might not ever grow accustomed to men randomly singing to or at me. They break out a soulful folk tune at the most random times, and I am at a loss for what I should be doing during these impromptu concerts. (As an aside, I have been asked on several occasions to sing a song at a moment's notice, just by way of something to entertain a gathered group. This country really needs to warm up to karaoke, is all.) But what does one do when a man is singing in your direction? My Fulbright cohort posed it thusly: "Should I clap along? Nod? What facial expression should I assume?" You may think we could look to Turkish females for guidance, but they are typically already ignoring the men, and to be fair, they might be jealous that the Americans are receiving these attentions.
Turkish folk health wisdom is also a force to be reckoned with. Earlier today I was with a friend who was readying himself for a soccer game. He had donned an egregious monochrome tracksuit and was waiting for his friend to phone him. He pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his tracksuit pocket and said "It's good to smoke before a match." Another example- if one ever tires of drinking tea whilst in Turkey (I won't, but it's not unheard of), all you have to do is have a piece of fruit nearby. Turks are absolutely dumbfounded by my strange custom of occasionally enjoying a piece of fruit and a cup of tea in rapid succession. This is simply not done here. Turks also fear drafts (and a woman with wet hair is a prime target for EVERY KNOWN DISEASE), bare feet, and any dose of an antibiotic less than three times the amount an American doctor would hesitate before prescribing.
On the bright side, the fear of drafts means I almost never have to worry about being cold here. Quite the opposite in fact- I have been lucky enough to encounter much more warmth than anything else while in Uşak.
Turkish hospitality does live up to the constant praise it receives in the guidebooks, but it also manifests itself in unexpected ways. Generally I would describe Turkish people as much more communal than Americans. Helping those around you is of the utmost social importance. There are the functional, practical aspects of life that have given rise to this attitude--for example, there are still town bread ovens in use (seriously--soon you will probably be able to get free wifi at the village oven while you wait for your food to cook). But there is also a tacit or explicit resistance to the American style (also known by Turks as the "European" style) of strict, "pulling-oneself-up-by-the-bootstraps" individuality that makes up such an important part of our culture. While individual drive is of course important, it is couched in the idea of putting everyone else before oneself. My interpretation of Turkish ambition is that in order to be able to provide for your friends and family, and in order to be a spectacular host, you need to earn money and have things. One improves one's position in life not just for personal gain, but in order to be that person who grabs the check at the end of the meal and says "It's on me," or to be able to afford a room with an extra bed in case anyone needs to stay the night. Of course, there are greedy, selfish people in Turkey, but just as a reminder I am dealing in generalizations and ideals in this blog post.
There are some other more lighthearted things I love about Turkey. PowerTurk, the Top 40 music channel that one can expect to see on TV's everywhere from the home of a friend to the trendiest restaurant (provided there is not a futbol match happening), is like a good friend who is always around and ready to have a good time. It's not quite as ubiquitous as teacups or likenesses of Atatürk, but it comes close. And I've come to love congregating with friends around coal-burning stoves (soba), the best example of which was that time one of my Turkish friends straight up set fire to an old pair of jeans in his soba, the flames of which we eventually used to roast chestnuts and make tea. ("Pants?!" I exclaimed in Turkish when seeing him do this. "They were old," he replied, matter of factly, with a shrug suggesting I was being some kind of pants-burning prude.) Sobalar are awesome, coal fumes notwithstanding.
Then there a things that I like about Turkey but will definitely never get used to seeing. Turkish men love their man-bags, for one. I think there is an unwritten but important rule that men over 30 must carry a small, square handbag which may or may not contain nothing but a wallet (shoulder strap optional). And speaking of men over 30, I will never be able to take them seriously when they drive around pumping Inna or other hot techno beats, sometimes with their families in tow. I also might not ever grow accustomed to men randomly singing to or at me. They break out a soulful folk tune at the most random times, and I am at a loss for what I should be doing during these impromptu concerts. (As an aside, I have been asked on several occasions to sing a song at a moment's notice, just by way of something to entertain a gathered group. This country really needs to warm up to karaoke, is all.) But what does one do when a man is singing in your direction? My Fulbright cohort posed it thusly: "Should I clap along? Nod? What facial expression should I assume?" You may think we could look to Turkish females for guidance, but they are typically already ignoring the men, and to be fair, they might be jealous that the Americans are receiving these attentions.
Turkish folk health wisdom is also a force to be reckoned with. Earlier today I was with a friend who was readying himself for a soccer game. He had donned an egregious monochrome tracksuit and was waiting for his friend to phone him. He pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his tracksuit pocket and said "It's good to smoke before a match." Another example- if one ever tires of drinking tea whilst in Turkey (I won't, but it's not unheard of), all you have to do is have a piece of fruit nearby. Turks are absolutely dumbfounded by my strange custom of occasionally enjoying a piece of fruit and a cup of tea in rapid succession. This is simply not done here. Turks also fear drafts (and a woman with wet hair is a prime target for EVERY KNOWN DISEASE), bare feet, and any dose of an antibiotic less than three times the amount an American doctor would hesitate before prescribing.
On the bright side, the fear of drafts means I almost never have to worry about being cold here. Quite the opposite in fact- I have been lucky enough to encounter much more warmth than anything else while in Uşak.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
The Turkish Twist
One of the more witty and insightful Fulbrighters came up with a neat little phrase that summarizes Turkey perhaps more aptly than the "four T's". We call it "The Turkish twist", which is not a dance (I will invent that later), but rather, the strange ways that a perfectly normal experience is rendered confusing and stressful for no real reason other than the fact that we are in Turkey.
For example (mesela), two weekends ago I went to Sinop. I had a lovely time with the three other Fulbrighters there and got to see the Black Sea, eat fresh fish in a floating restaurant, and hone my tavla (backgammon) skills. However, after the first night of staying in the polisevi (police house, where the two Sinop Fulbrighters were living), the front desk staff brusquely informed us that it was NOT A HOTEL and refused to give the Sinop duo their keys on the second night. Even though between the two of them they have six beds, apparently you need "permission" from "[insert bureaucrat here]" in order to stay there. So, I ended up taking the night bus home, and the other non-Sinop visitor found a new place to stay. It didn't ruin the weekend, but it did cause a few moments of unnecessary stress. The Turkish twist.
Sinop as seen from near a cafe that is on the northernmost point in Turkey.
This is part of the Sinop harbor, where apparently cruise ships dock from time to time.
As for last weekend, I went to Eskişehir and Uşak's neighboring big-ish city, Afyonkarahisar. The Turkish twist in Eskişehir for me was that the "EsTram" there, while adorable and convenient, did not magically get me to the otogar on time, so I ended up missing my scheduled bus at 11AM, changing my ticket to the 1PM bus, taking the tram back to city center, going on a short (and awesome) gondola ride in the canal, and then immediately getting back on the tram to go to the bus station to leave. Eskişehir is the best potential site of a Fulbrighter romantic comedy, so we decided. I am slowly easing myself into bigger Turkish cities--this weekend, Antalya, perhaps next weekend, Izmir, and then maybe...Istanbul?
Look at how cute this tram is.
A beautiful mosque which I did not go in to because even though I had a scarf at hand, I did not have a female guide to prevent me from making some kind of sacrilegious mistake. Another mosque, another time.
"I just got [to Eskişehir], and I think I know why no Fulbrighter was placed here."
"Why?"
"Because it's AWESOME."
The last-second gondola ride on the canal.
I am glad for my extra 45 minutes or so in Eskişehir because it allowed me to take just enough pictures to illustrate its cuteness, which I hadn't before, spending most of my time in Kahve Dünyası (a chain here, trans. coffee world) nibbling a chocolate spoon that came with my salep (a popular drink here made from the roots of orchids). I didn't take pictures of Afyon because it was night and I mostly only ate dinner there.
But back to the Turkish twist...yesterday morning, I got to teach my first class. Of course this could not happen without some kind of scheduling malfunction! (As an aside: I actually am totally in love with the lackadaisical attitude towards class here. I realized not too long ago that the reason classes last 4 hours is that a "ten minute break" inevitably means a "25 minute break", and teachers and students come late or leave early pretty much at random, so if classes were allotted a normal amount of time, next to nothing would ever get done.)
Anyways...the twist? My class actually did not come at all, or, as I perhaps more accurately speculate, they came to class around 8:30 but left the room before I arrived at 9:40, because my Fulbright coworker and I were not shown where our classrooms were until an hour after the scheduled starting time, due to our guides needing to finish their breakfast and drink their tea first. So we taught one class together (instead of two different classes separately, but at the same time) for about two and a half hours, which was perfectly OK. I am just happy to be doing what I came here to do, and the "students" (actually mostly department heads, assistant professors, and other bigwigs) are enthusiastic and do not need too much coercion to speak. Heck, they even seemed to enjoy themselves a little bit, but I don't want to get too cocky. Eventually (inşallah!) we will know when and where we are teaching each day more than five minutes before class or at least not an hour in to the start of class.
For example (mesela), two weekends ago I went to Sinop. I had a lovely time with the three other Fulbrighters there and got to see the Black Sea, eat fresh fish in a floating restaurant, and hone my tavla (backgammon) skills. However, after the first night of staying in the polisevi (police house, where the two Sinop Fulbrighters were living), the front desk staff brusquely informed us that it was NOT A HOTEL and refused to give the Sinop duo their keys on the second night. Even though between the two of them they have six beds, apparently you need "permission" from "[insert bureaucrat here]" in order to stay there. So, I ended up taking the night bus home, and the other non-Sinop visitor found a new place to stay. It didn't ruin the weekend, but it did cause a few moments of unnecessary stress. The Turkish twist.
Sinop as seen from near a cafe that is on the northernmost point in Turkey.
This is part of the Sinop harbor, where apparently cruise ships dock from time to time.
As for last weekend, I went to Eskişehir and Uşak's neighboring big-ish city, Afyonkarahisar. The Turkish twist in Eskişehir for me was that the "EsTram" there, while adorable and convenient, did not magically get me to the otogar on time, so I ended up missing my scheduled bus at 11AM, changing my ticket to the 1PM bus, taking the tram back to city center, going on a short (and awesome) gondola ride in the canal, and then immediately getting back on the tram to go to the bus station to leave. Eskişehir is the best potential site of a Fulbrighter romantic comedy, so we decided. I am slowly easing myself into bigger Turkish cities--this weekend, Antalya, perhaps next weekend, Izmir, and then maybe...Istanbul?
Look at how cute this tram is.
A beautiful mosque which I did not go in to because even though I had a scarf at hand, I did not have a female guide to prevent me from making some kind of sacrilegious mistake. Another mosque, another time.
"I just got [to Eskişehir], and I think I know why no Fulbrighter was placed here."
"Why?"
"Because it's AWESOME."
The last-second gondola ride on the canal.
I am glad for my extra 45 minutes or so in Eskişehir because it allowed me to take just enough pictures to illustrate its cuteness, which I hadn't before, spending most of my time in Kahve Dünyası (a chain here, trans. coffee world) nibbling a chocolate spoon that came with my salep (a popular drink here made from the roots of orchids). I didn't take pictures of Afyon because it was night and I mostly only ate dinner there.
But back to the Turkish twist...yesterday morning, I got to teach my first class. Of course this could not happen without some kind of scheduling malfunction! (As an aside: I actually am totally in love with the lackadaisical attitude towards class here. I realized not too long ago that the reason classes last 4 hours is that a "ten minute break" inevitably means a "25 minute break", and teachers and students come late or leave early pretty much at random, so if classes were allotted a normal amount of time, next to nothing would ever get done.)
Anyways...the twist? My class actually did not come at all, or, as I perhaps more accurately speculate, they came to class around 8:30 but left the room before I arrived at 9:40, because my Fulbright coworker and I were not shown where our classrooms were until an hour after the scheduled starting time, due to our guides needing to finish their breakfast and drink their tea first. So we taught one class together (instead of two different classes separately, but at the same time) for about two and a half hours, which was perfectly OK. I am just happy to be doing what I came here to do, and the "students" (actually mostly department heads, assistant professors, and other bigwigs) are enthusiastic and do not need too much coercion to speak. Heck, they even seemed to enjoy themselves a little bit, but I don't want to get too cocky. Eventually (inşallah!) we will know when and where we are teaching each day more than five minutes before class or at least not an hour in to the start of class.
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