The World Is On Sale

I have a new boyfriend. I know, it's unceremonious to announce it on the internet... Sorry mom--hopefully you won't take it personally. Here's a picture of him--he looks a little goofy in his turtleneck sweater, but I think he's perfect.



Yeah, that's right. "He" is actually an "it"--a hot water bottle. It's getting colder and last night was uncomfortable so it was time for a sleeping upgrade. I bought him this afternoon at the ultra posh Turkish home store: MudoConcept--a cross between an upscale Pier 1 Imports and Anthropologie (since they also sell clothes and an entire lifestyle just from the experience of shopping in their store).

I thought my shopping mission would be simple enough, but what should have taken only a few minutes ended up consuming half an hour. The entire universe of Mudo was on sale--30 to 60% off to be exact--and stuffed to the gills with glitzy Turkish women vying for a spot in the check out queue. After standing in line for almost 20 minutes, I experienced more than my share of the winter shopping madness induced by the global financial crisis' absurd sales.

For the most part, I've been successful in resisting the temptation to buy things in Izmir. There have been insane sales on already-cheap clothes, but I have consistently reminded myself that I don't need anything more in my closet.

I've read some of the articles on NY Times about the sales in the States (not to mention the Walmart employee who was trampled to death), and how it's going to take seasons to retrain shoppers to pay full price for things--I think that maybe Turkey is experiencing similar problems. Everything is on sale. Everything. It's kind of nauseating.

Welcome to the Bachelorette Pad
George is finally and officially gone. He left for England last night--on an overnight bus to İstanbul, and then a flight to London. I am poised to commandeer his room once I sanitize it. There's dust and grime on everything. Ick. And then there are the banana peels he abandoned on our couch, and the bag of trash he left by the front door. Thanks for the memories.

Sondra and I thought we were scott free as far as having to put up with another flatmate, since George's replacement already lives in İzmir. Thanks PEÉ! However, some late night snooping on the vast and glorious internet proved that PEÉ is hiring (hmmm...), and offering our free and furnished accommodations. Of course, the ad doesn't say that the poor schmuck will have to move into a window-less room. Drama is in the air.

Where's Thailand?
I had a new class tonight. At the end of our lesson one of the women approached me and asked me quietly something that sounded like "Where's Thailand?"

"Sorry?"

She repeated her question but it couldn't possibly be right, and I had no idea what she was saying. She was increasingly frustrated and becoming embarrassed and finally I understood she wanted to know where the toilet was... at which point I pulled her into the hall and pointed.

It was pretty awkward. But then again, the seven students in my Intermediate class were pretty awkward to begin with. Three men (one real man who reminded me of Milton "Excuse me, you have my stapler" Waddins from Office Space, and two teenager-y looking guys) and four women, three of whom are probably in their twenties. They were all pretty uncomfortable with each other, and I probably didn't help things by putting them with same-sex partners for the first forty-five minutes. When I went to check on them in PEÉ's in-school cafe during their 10-minute break, the women were at one table, the men at another. It made mingling when them stilted, stilted, stilted.

Answering the usual questions (Why did you come to Turkey? How long have you been here? Do you like Izmir?) and some others: "Did you wote?" [Turks can't make the vvvv sound very easily] Yes, I voted. But I'm not allowed to talk to you about politics. "Barack Obama or John McCain?" I'm sorry, but I can't talk to you about it. I know--it's interesting, but I can't...

Converse Considerations

Turkish Retribution
Tonight I've finally gone and done it. I've created the long-warned-of Turkish Punishment Masks of Shame. My students are not supposed to speak Turkish in the classroom but making them comply with this is challenging. English teachers at PEÉ are constantly creating new and creative punishments for Turkish chatter (including hopping around the room on one foot, meowing like a cat, "losing points", etc.). As Sondra and I walked home tonight we hypothesized that if females could be made to feel unattractive, and males feminine, we might create an effective incentive to shut up.

So I dug through my trash and found an empty milk carton (now washed), and an old oatmeal box. They have been split open and given eye holes. I also found some hideous red tinsel in our original Turkish bathroom-turned storage closet, and sewed it onto a barrette. Tomorrow morning I'll fix some rubber bands on the sides of the milk and oatmeal boxes, so that they can be worn on the face for the duration of an activity. A lot of the guys here have pretty short hair, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed that the barrette will have enough to grab onto...

Behold the trinity's beauty!

Though I'll never tell them, my students would be glad to know that I sliced my finger while cutting the eye holes... Karma, yeah?

Cultural Imperialism
And God said, "Let there be English." And there was, and God saw that it was good. And English spread across the land, and grew through time until it was a complicated tangle.

Finally, hundreds of years later--when English had become the vehicle of economics and of the globalized, competitive business; when what people knew about their jobs and their cultures was no longer enough--students in countries worldwide toiled many a long hour in language schools to learn this disastrous monster that God called English. These students strove to decipher the inconsistent mess (Too, two or to? Their, they're or there? Should we use "a," "the," or "one?" before this particular noun?!). And these students spent many hundreds, nay sometimes even thousands of dollars to compensate for their unfortunate upbringing in a language foreign to English.

God created a chosen people who were blessed to speak English from childhood. Among them was J. She went to Turkey, where the original language bespoke a logic and beautiful simplicity, and she tried to teach English.

Some of her students had already been brought into the tangle of English, and she led them ever deeper. Other students were utter tyros and began outside the tangle, on the fringes. She led them slowly into the wild forest of English grammar--a place where there are more exceptions than there are rules--a place where you're lucky to grow up so that you don't have to meet the horrible beasts later in life.

J watched some students succeed. She watched others falter, and the occasional one fail. For 23 classes out of 24, she did the song and dance (grammar, grammar, grammar, and lots and lots of vocabulary). But for the last class of the 24, she sat and watched her students during their exams: they gnawed their erasers; they snuck glances at their neighbor's answer sheet; they mumbled memorized phrases and tried to remember which preposition followed which verb. They agonized and sweat as they tried to answer the multitude of questions that assessed and quantified their knowledge. In the end, no one ever got 100%.

And though God saw that it was good, J wondered...

Lead Me To The Ex-Pats

On my way to work yesterday, I went to the Turkish-American Association. It was a little awkward explaining it to the Turkish doorman, receptionists and then activity coordinating director. I felt like I was admitting that I have a communicable disease--like herpes:

"Hi, I'm an English teacher in İzmir and I want to meet Americans because my Turkish is so pathetic that I can't communicate with anyone... Lead me to the ex-pats!"

Well, it turns out that I have to be a member which would require me to pay the 50 lira annual fee AFTER I've submitted an application with the signatures of two current TAA members who are not related to each other or me, and then after I've been interviewed, reviewed and accepted by a different committee that meets monthly. (Yeah, um, no, I'm thinking in my head.)

"How do I get these sponsors' signatures?"

"You can come to the free happy hour this Friday from 6-8."

"How many people will be there?"

"Five or six, probably."

Hmm... I have to teach the subtle difference between "can't" and "don't," so unless my Elementary class is canceled, I unfortunately won't be able to attend. I am, however, very interested in meeting these five or six potentially booze-soaked ex-pats. And they look forward to reviewing my application for approval.

Tales from Kapadokya: Random Dolmuş Rides and Kay Maklı

Alright, my videos are pretty crappy for the most part. So forgive me... This is certainly no Oscar-winning work, but it'll help you kill time if you're absolutely stuck for other procrastination tasks.

First, some dolmuş rides in the Nevşehir area. I know these are less than thrilling, but that's why I take them. Here's Turkey in its mundane beauty.

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Second, squeezing through Kay Maklı. I sound like such a tool in the middle video (especially while George and I argue over the correct pronunciation of "depot"). It's better when I keep my mouth shut and try not to talk about marauding Arab armies attacking the huddled underground masses... *sigh* Just mute your volume and try to see in the dark.

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Tales from Kapadokya: Avanos Call to Prayer

While George and I were on our way up the hills surrounding Avanos, the Call to Prayer started. It was super haunting and beautiful--there wasn't anyone else around and I was able to get a short bit of it recorded for you.

Tales from Kapadokya: Bush in a Dolmuş

<-- Check out my new link to help you pronounce weird Turkish letters.

George and I were on a dolmuş in Nevşehir. Though we and the driver were the only ones, the windows had fogged from the ten or so people who had also ridden from Göreme. We were evading the seeping cold by waiting inside for the next dolmuş that would take us to Kay Maklı.

We had been quiet for some time--constant companionship often reduced us to silence. The only thing I'd said was to notify the ticket man that we wanted to go to one of the area's underground cities burrowed out of the earth ages and ages ago. I am never nervous traveling in Turkey. Once I tell the driver or ticket man where I want to go in broken Turkish, he smiles and shepherds us along, telling us what to do and where to get off. Though I rarely understand their directions, they point and we figure it out. No need to worry.

But once our driver realized that we spoke English, and that I was American, he twisted around in seat, off and running in poor English supplemented with Turkish.

"Obama?" he asked me.

"Çok güzel! (He's very good!)" I say with a smile on my face and the driver smiles back.

"Obama maybe good." Turks are glad to get rid of Bush but they're not holding their breath for miracles. The world's in a bind--it's still too soon for them to know about Obama.

The driver went on. Father Bush was okay, but Bush has made a mess. George tried to get a word in edgewise: "Tony Blair?" He had to repeat a couple of times to be heard and the driver said, "Sometimes good, sometimes bad." But soon he was back to ranting about Bush son going to Iraq. "Why?" the driver asked me with a pained look on his face. I shrugged. He continued--something about petrol, nuclear weapons, and children dying--lots of children dying.

I commiserated, nodding my head. "Çok kötü. (It's very bad)"

With zero prompting, he divulged his presidential preferences: "Clinton, good. Father Bush, good. Reagan, *and he made a face that was neither bad nor good*." He listed Carter, Ford, Nixon, Johnson and Kennedy. I can't remember his verdict for all of them, though he did like Kenney. But he knew them. They know about us. We really are omnipresent.

I get this weird feeling every once in awhile. I'm embarrassed and sad and very conscious that I don't know anything about Turkey, or the rest of the world, for that matter. I couldn't form an opinion on any of the Turkish presidents' political victories or debacles. And yet, here I am, American, with my ass bare in the wind, the world watching.

Then he transitioned to global climate change: "The world... silk." Turks don't use the verb "to be" so they often forget to include is/am/are if they don't know a lot of English yet.

"Silk? İpek?" I asked. It didn't translate.

"Hiyar (no)--hasta," he explained.

"Oh--sick--yes, the world is sick."

About this time, a dolmuş with KAY MAKLI printed in blue on its rear windows zipped past us. "Kay Maklı!" I blurted out, pointing at it through the windshield.

The driver whipped around and honked his horn a few times and flashed his headlights. I groaned with despair but the dolmuş slowed down about a hundred meters in front of us.

"No problem! No problem! I talk talk talk talk!" He apologized and gunned the engine, chasing down our next dolmuş. I was laughing with the driver as George and I hopped out of the dolmuş. "Çok teşekürler! Çok yarım seversin! Hoş çakal!" (Thanks a lot! You're very helpful! Bye!)"

The driver had a huge grin on his wrinkled face as we waved goodbye to him before we climbed into our next dolmuş to Kay Maklı.

Massive Kapadokya Photo Update

Wow. Ok, the photos are up. There are seven new albums listed, each beginning with Kapadokya. It took a couple hours. There are still some videos that I want to upload but I haven't got the energy for that tonight.

I put lots of comments in each album, so I suggest you plow through those first. Stories and other observations to follow.

Home Again, Home Again

I JUST got back from Kapadokya. I need to shower (I reek. My prediction was MORE than accurate), eat, nap and get to work. Kapadokya was amazing. I have so much to talk about (so many cool people I met and conversations I had) and so many pictures to post (I took over 300 and it's going to take some time to organize and upload the good ones). Anyway, here's one for now, just to prove I actually went...

Yobancalar (yuh-BOHN-jha-larh)
Yobanca is Turkish for foreigner. I am one. And I need to meet some more--other than the ones I work with. I had dinner with Sondra and another woman from work tonight and wanted to pull my hair out. My co-worker has been in Turkey for over a year and knows how to speak some Turkish, and yet she insists on speaking English in restaurants when she's ordering, but then complains when she doesn't get the service she wants. Are you kidding me?! It's so disrespectful that I was embarrassed just to be there with her. I mean, at least try.

I emailed the Turkish American Association this morning, asking to be put in contact with other yobancalar in Izmir. ASAP. Maybe post-Kapadokya I can branch out and meet some people. It's so, so difficult to be friends with people simply because there's no one else to speak to. I'm so glad I live with Sondra and not my co-worker.

To Pack or Not To Pack...
Starting Sunday night/Monday morning are four days in Kapadokya. Contents of one backpack:

• half a towel (I cut it in half so as to save space)
• tiny bottles of shampoo and miniature doses of aspirin, melatonin and St. John's Wort in case I have issues sleeping
• the bare minimum of clothing (I accept that I will reek when I arrive in Izmir Friday morning)
• camera with extra battery and recharger
• passport
• Swiss Army Knife
• pens and journal/Turkish words notebook
• Turkish phrasebook

I debated bringing my Turkish textbook (it's easily three pounds) but decided I should just photocopy relevant sections at work tomorrow before I go. Ah the beauty of technology.

We've Having A Heatwave

It's December 3rd. Winter has never seemed further away. It's warm. Like, 65 or 70 degrees warm but Izmirliler are bundled up in jackets, vests, ponchos and the like. Possibly to protect them from the mosquitos?

Yes, it's so warm that the mosquitos have come back. Last night there was one in my room. Being highly neurotic, I wake up when a mozzie is buzzing in my ear, even at 4:30a.m. I cannot relax and fall back asleep if I know that I am vulnerable to one of the beasts. So I haul myself from bed, switch on the overhead light and search the room until I find and murder the little fucker. But last night's predator was smarter than the average mozzie. I tried to find it twice between the hours of 4:30 and 6a.m., but to no avail. It eluded me every time I tried to crush it against the wall and then disappeared. I finally gave up looking for it and resigned myself to a bug-bitten future.

My 11:30am reflection proved that in addition to bites on my left wrist and right pinky knuckle, the mosquito had nipped my eyebrow, forehead and bridge of my nose. Have some pity--anywhere but my face.

At about 11a.m. I discovered the little bastard resting contentedly on my curtain. I called Sondra and she killed it on the first try. Too little too late.

Teach, Taught, Taught
I finally had a good day. My Pre-Int class--the ones who have been complaining about me (a.k.a. The Weekend Wankers [British slang is infusing my own])--seems to have turned around. Every few months each teacher is evaluated by their students and though I didn't get stunning results from them, I did receive a solid level of satisfaction. I guess they see me trying, and perhaps felt bad about having the Director of Studies looming in class during the particularly painful lesson a few weekends ago. Anyway, I needed a boost in confidence since the morale of virtually everyone at work has been in the toilet for the past bit.

Tomorrow night my Business Men will complete Intermediate and I will be shepherding them into the wild world of Upper Intermediate where future present continuous and other beastly points of the English language will be encountered. It is exciting because they are my first students and I am glad to find out where the end of the grammatical rainbow at Posh English leads to. After this level, students are finished, and would only be continuing in exam classes to take TOEFL or TOEIC--which thankfully I don't teach yet.

Indoctrination
I have noticed the textbooks we use are a subtle vehicle for brainwashing. Every textbook that I'm using is peppered with sentences in exercises that guilt students into acknowledging their teachers. Here's a smattering:

• My new English teacher is Simon. He's very funny and nice. We all like him a lot.
• The students all respect and admire their teacher.
• Their teacher's funnier than ours. Our lessons are more interesting than theirs.
• "Do you like your teacher?" "Yes, she's very nice."
  
• (and my personal favorite:) "Do you want to be a teacher when you grow up?" " No. They work very hard but they don't earn a lot." Amen.
  

Losing My Religion

It's taken me 79 days of virtually zero homesickness or adjustment to finally crash into the reality of Turkey. I needed some space tonight, and, after work, ate dinner alone at Gazi's restaurant. It's right outside the door up to our flat. I walked home in the rain--soaked for 45 minutes and needing a change of clothes--so I went upstairs first to put on dry things and grab my English/Turkish dictionary.

No one paid me a lot of attention for awhile. Gazi was charming as always, and Müjdat was sweet and chipper as he made my food. But as I sat there, watching everyone chatter about daily life in Turkish, an overwhelming feeling of sadness seeped up from somewhere inside me. I have no idea what it was, and it seemed to come from nowhere. Like I'd accidentally stumbled into a fresh feeling.

I nearly cried, right there in the restaurant. I started thinking about how we are the language that we speak. In a fundamental, inextricable way, I am the English language, and I am deeply, deeply, deeply American. Yes, attitude and spirit can be expressed through actions and behavior, but so much of us is language. There is a feeling of standing outside of someone, of seeing the outside of a house, or a cave, or somewhere deep and intricate, and being unable to enter. With no words, no verb tenses, no imperative, no adverbs, no inflection, no mastery of a language, I have no way to get inside another person. And then I thought about how we are only as strong as the language that we know. I know some numbers. Some polite expressions and only the most basic of understandings of how to turn an adjective into a statement about myself (i.e. I am sick; I am cold; I am good). But what am I beyond that? Little.

After awhile, Müjdat finished making pide and sat down with me. Using the dictionary and napkins, we plotted a conversation. It began with me writing the word "silver", and moved to sugar, and then the Turkish equivalent. We talked about our families, drawing pictures for the number of children (we are both the third children, but his parents had four more after him). I drew pictures of California and the United States--he showed me where he was born in Kars. We learned the months in order to establish that we are both 23, our birthdays in July, 12 days apart. There was lots of page flipping, and dead ends, and mis-translations and second attempts, but with nouns and horrible verb conjugation, we talked about what our parents do.

It is so deeply unsatisfying to communicate in this stilted, rough, ineloquent manner. To be hypersensitive to the reality of being encircled by the high, impenetrable linguistic and cultural barrier. To realize that I am light years away from being able to understand Turks on their own turf.

There is a sort of sadness that fills me. I only recognize it as a nostalgia for the past, but that description doesn't fit it properly. See, even my own language is slipping. I can't tell if I miss the States or not--not enough to wish myself away from Turkey, or to wish that the time here would pass more quickly. Maybe it's really that I long for a future--an ability to speak Turkish, to find myself here. I long for a me that doesn't exist yet. But I think I also long for a me that won't ever really exist. I can learn Turkish, but it would always be a second skin, a different personality, a different me.

I am the English language.

It's Turkish Food From Now On.

Sometimes it's better to just miss what you can't have rather than torment yourself with a cheap imitation.

Fahri, my Turkish teacher slash ultra-generous host around Turkey took me to Ephesus (see photos on site). On our way back to Izmir we had dinner in a nice restaurant called Tex Mex tonight. At first blush it seemed promising. When I saw the description of chicken tacos (sour cream, guacamole and cheddar cheese--all of which are rare in Turkish markets), my mouth started to water.

Today's travel moral: Don't count your chickens before they hatch.

The ultra-posh ambiance of Tex Mex (glass wall with a view of Izmir's glittering lights, two waiters per table, carefully-groomed maitre d', plush chairs, etcetra) should have been a tip-off that I would not be eating Mexican food as I knew it. Tacos and burritos are meant to be consumed in quantity off of ugly, dirty plates in scuzzy hole-in-the-wall joints where you might (but never do) get food poisoning.

When my tacos arrived they were in the middle of a pristine square white plate, delicately perched on a bed of shredded iceburg lettuce. Fahri had ordered the same thing, and I realized in a split second that I should not, repeat NOT, pick the taco up and bite into it. Forget it if that's how you actually eat a taco. This is Turkey. This is an elite restaurant, with people celebrating their anniversary at a specially-decorated table a few feet away. Some American girl chomping through a taco and would not improve Tex Mex's reputation. So, following Fahri's example, I picked up my knife and fork and delicately consumed my taco's filling, then tackled the remaining corn shell. All the while thinking: What the fuck?!?!

Two strips of semi-melted American cheese were criss-crossed as garnish on each taco--I guess you can call whatever you want cheddar cheese, as long as you live in a place where no one has any idea what the hell it really is. There was definitely no guacamole in either of my tacos. The chicken was flavored with BBQ sauce. (Hence the Tex in the Mex?) Oh, Chipotle, how I yearn for you.

I kept laughing about how absurd it was, but just passed it off as me delighting in the food when Fahri asked what was up. "Yes, it's so good. Yes, it's almost like being back in America." I was not about to bitch and whine since the tacos cost 12.50YTL.

Add it to the list of things to do upon resurfacing in America: Mexican food like whoa.

Staying Alive, Staying Alive

Teaching—Black Like My Soul
Ugh teaching is brutal! I got complaints from my Pre-Int class a couple weeks in a row—they thought I was doing an unsatisfactory job presenting grammar, but then they all scored amazingly well on the exam they had just taken. Despite the good results, my class was observed today to try to identify and remedy my perceived shortcomings. BUT! According to the Rules of the Universe, this means that a mediocre lesson became worse—imagine a glowering, Director of Studies looming like a white elephant in the corner of the room—only instead of being white, he was clad entirely in black and therefore incredibly, incredibly intimidating. Sort of like the Grim Reaper of Lesson Failure.

My students clammed up and kept sneaking looks at the DoS out of the corner of their eye. As a result, my energy plummeted, and from there, the lesson just slid into an abyss. But wouldn’t you know it, as soon as my DoS left, students perked up and we were able to have a good time again. *shakes fist angrily at the god of irony* It’s ok, though. I’m being melodramatic. Well, sort of. Truthfully, I’m learning to climb out of failure relatively quickly. I have to. I have too many lessons to teach to sit around feeling like a reject.

Teaching in a language school is challenging because, especially with the economy going bezerk and students wanting their money’s worth, there’s so much stress to get it right. Constantly. I’m working my ass off, and it only seems to get me so far. Though I have nearly impeccable rapport with my students, I think that my age has ended up being part of the reason that this one class has questioned my authority. *sigh sigh sigh*

Another One Bites the Dust
A combination of factors (long hours, poor food selection in Izmir, crap wage, being the only young guy, etc, etc) has led George has to quit and go back to The Island. Come December or January, Sondra and I will be inhabiting our flat all by our lonesomes. Of course, George must be replaced by a new teacher, but hopefully whoever it is won’t live with us. One guy being interviewed right now already lives in Izmir and has a flat—and an unlikable smoking habit. This means that my food and travel companion is disappearing. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I clearly need to make friends.

Holiday. Just in the nick of time.
In a couple weeks all the teachers get off four days for holiday. George and I are going to Kapadokya. We have our bus tickets. We’re leaving at night on Sunday December 7th and arriving Monday morning. We’ll explore the vast and wonderful world of Kapadokya until Thursday night when we’ll get on another bus and be whisked back to Izmir in time to teach classes Friday afternoon. A little risky, I know, especially considering the snow, but it’s our one opportunity to actually get far enough away from Izmir, and we’re taking it. I don’t care if I’m dead on my feet from exhaustion. I will see something beautiful and awe-inspiring.

Ben Türkçe ögrenmek istiyorum! (I want to learn Turkish!)
I have begun studying Turkish. One of the teachers at school, Nigel, has lived in Izmir for almost 15 years and has a substantial social network. When we were out getting beers a couple weeks ago, I met one of his Turkish friends, Fahri (far-EE), whose English is quite good. I mentioned that I wanted to learn Turkish—seriously, not just enough to order something in a restaurant—and Fahri decided to become my teacher.

The lessons are essentially free, although I do provide him substantial opportunity to practice his English whilst regaling me with endless stories of cultural clashes on his business trips to China. He’s not particularly interested in Americans—I tried talking politics with him but the subject immediately went back to some anecdote about China—so I get a little bored during his monologues, but he is able to explain Turkish grammar. I can’t complain. Fahri also has REAL, AUTHENTIC Turkish friends, who invited me to their home, provided me with slippers to wear when I removed my shoes, served me wonderful tea, coffee, cookies, Turkish Delight, and more little biscuits.

In short, Turks are every bit as generous as I was led to believe, and then some.

I have managed to find some time at night to study Turkish over the past week. Flash cards with adjectives live in my jacket pocket and I study on my walk to work. I am actually learning words and try to practice with REAL, AUTHENTIC Turks whenever possible. It has become a Saturday ritual for us flatmates to eat dinner at the restaurant right outside the entrance to our flat. The owner Gazi (GAH-zee) is super generous, often giving us extra mezes (appetizers) and special deserts to nibble on. Some distant male family relations are his chefs and they consistently make us amazing food and try to talk with us. None of us can speak the other’s language particularly well—if grammar were acrobatics, we would all be falling on the mat, too crippled to get back up to the high beam. But we muddle through with lots of smiling and head nodding to gloss over the attempts to perform grammatical miracles.

Some days I think how it’s going to be a long year. On the other hand, I’ve already been here for over two months…

Hair Cuts

Yesterday George finally got the guts to get his haircut in Turkey. He's been whinging (British English: to complain) for weeks about his unruly mop. He asked Sondra and I to accompany him. We said yes, of course. He didn't want to go alone. I wouldn't want to go alone either. We prepared for the excursion by sifting through my dictionary and finding some useful words: "a hair cut; three centimeters; thick hair; to make sparse." George wrote them on a scrap of paper and stuffed them in his pocket.

The three of us piled into the lift and slowly descended to the street level. We walked out the door in the lobby and turned left immediately to the barber shop that is right next to our apartment entrance. George insisted on going here because it's good for "community relations." George did most of the talking (which really just consisted of showing the barber the scrap of paper with Turkish) but Sondra and I provided moral support. The barber shop was otherwise empty, and our arrival displaced the barber's friend from his seat behind the hair cutting chairs. Sondra and I were offered the chairs and the friend stood awkwardly in the doorway, watching traffic pass. Women don't hang out in barber shops, we guessed, and soon enough we knew why.

The Turkish barber shop is a bastion of male secrets. After an immaculate hair cut, George's barber wadded cotton on the tips of his scissors, doused the cotton in some purple goo, took out his BIC lighter and ignited the mighty swab, and--before anyone realized what was happening--singed the Offensive Man Hair off George's ears. Sondra was better at hiding her amusement but I was dissolving in laughter. The hilarity increased when the barber required George to lean back against a pillow that had popped up from the back of the chair, so that he could trim his nostril hair. Nope, not done yet. The eyebrows had yet to be given a quick clip.

After the barber had shampooed George's entire head (and face) as he sat hunched forward over a sink basin, his hair was towel-blotted and blow-dried into a puff that looked like a baby bird. Then came the L'Oreal styling creme, and finally an application of standard Turkish lemon-scented cologne. The barber charged 10YTL (which is a miserable $6.6 at the current exchange rate) for about 45 minutes of tender loving care.

I just hope that women's salons don't singe your ear hair off... I might put off a hair cut for even longer than I'd originally planned.

Obama Victory!

Obama Victory!
I was wandering through morning dream land before 7am when I rolled over and heard clapping and cheering coming from the TV. I leaped out of bed and ran to the living room. Streaming live to the world--the BBC's coverage of the American election. Obama had won. Already. I was so excited I hopped around the living room (Kenyans were hopping around their towns, too, in celebration--it's a global party!).

Then I sat on the couch and was enraptured by Obama's live acceptance speech to Chicago. I laughed when he made a shout-out to "all of you overseas, huddled around radios." Not quite... But I was ever so huddled, ever so stunned, ever, ever, ever so proud. My two favorite parts: 1) Obama telling his daughters that he loved them and that they had really earned the new puppy that was going with them to the White House; 2) when Biden's family came out and 90-year old Mama Biden stood on the stage with the "Oh my God, I can't fucking believe I'm here" look.

It is surreal to me, too, but for different reasons--this world is becoming smaller than it has been. Technology is so incredible. I've been following it for weeks on satellite TV and I watched the acceptance speech live thousands of miles from home. I logged onto Facebook soon after I found out the election results and probably 50 or 60 of my friends had updated their current status to say something about the fact that Obama had just won the presidency. The Internet and the youth vote are going to change the way politics happen in this country--they already have.

A lot of people are euphoric, perhaps too euphoric given the limitations of the wars, the global financial crisis, our own national debt, the climate crisis, and on and on. But... We'll see. We've got eight years.

Manifesting the Law
My students were better behaved last night than they have been. A few strategies:

• not being as friendly towards them at the beginning of the lesson;
  
• hovering in their space rather than towards the front of the classroom and standing closer to them when I told them not to speak Turkish whilst giving long, reprimanding stares;
• determining which students would work with each other to break up the perpetrators;
• hanging out with them during the 10 minute break (when they are allowed to speak Turkish) and allowing them to translate for each other as they asked me questions about America and my time in Turkey; upon returning to the classroom I said Turkish on break was fine but now it's back to English.

So we'll see how it goes. The chatty and flirtatious girl was out last night, so it's possible that my success was due to her absence... *sigh* Friday will be another battle.

Becoming the Law

Today will be eventful. I'm biting my nails about the American election. I plan on waking up tomorrow morning and watching CNN's constant election coverage with Sondra and George. But I have to finish the week first--which currently includes a battle between me and my Elementary students.

The six of them are becoming a pain in my ass. Of the two men in class, one of them is a fatherly policeman who often chatters in Turkish; the other is eye candy and is making ripples (I am pretty sure that my perception of flirting transcends the language barrier--this one girl sits next to him and bats her eyes and giggles in Turkish). The students had been speaking some Turkish, translating things I was saying in class. It hadn't really become a problem until last night when they got more disrespectful about it and laughter ensued--it's no longer acceptable but it's like trying to put out a fire that's already started. Tonight I'm dragging out the hose. Normally I jump around and act and make them laugh--anything to get the English across. I'm at war with my age, my gender, my friendliness, my inexperience at telling people what to do and exacting results.

I've got to dig around in my closet and find the Stern Bitch clothes that match my new attitude.

American Elections in Izmir

It is Sunday night. On Tuesday, America will know who its next president will be. Well. Not likely. I predict some last-minute drama about hanging chads, faulty voting machines and whatnot. But regardless, we're all pretty damn excited over here in Turkey. Sondra, George and I are planning on plunking in front of our TV Wednesday to watch the BBC's election coverage and drink beer--we're going to need it to either celebrate or mourn the outcome.

My students have been asking me about the election. Even the elementary students who can hardly string words together: "Teacher. President? Obama? McCain?" Like I can answer and have you understand me, so I just shrug and shake my head with a huge grin in my face. In the staff room today we were talking about the election and another teacher mentioned that when he organized a class competition and asked the two groups of students to choose team names for themselves, "Obama" and "McCain" were the picks. So there you have it.

America, the world is watching.

Republic Day

Hurray! I'm allowed to access Blogspot again. There was an outage for three or four days and I don't know what changed but suddenly I can get into my site again. I posted once on the blog in my photo site but I'm going to transfer it to here.

Republic Day
Today, the 29th of October, is Republic Day in Turkey. It's like our Independence Day so everyone has their flag hung out on their balcony. Pictures are posted. When Sondra and I walked to work a couple days ago, a parade was practicing along the route we normally walk. There were military men in full uniform followed by school children (alternating blocs of girls and boys all in school uniform) waving a little Turkish flag in each hand. They were all chanting something but of course, I didn't understand it.

Turkish TV
I finally discovered Turkish television. I've never been much for TV, so I've only watched on the one in our flat occasionally when Sondra or George wanted to watch the BBC for news. But this morning (it's the weekend and I fully intend to lay about all day), I was flipping through channels trying to find BBC but I think that because it's Republic Day, they're broadcasting only Turkish stuff because I can't find it. After watching a couple bleach commercials and an incomprehensible history show about Ataturk, I and found a Turkish MTV-type channel. It's incredible. I have no idea what anyone is singing about, but it's fascinating to watch and look at the clothes, the party scenes, the special effects, the celebrities...

So far my favorite video is the one where there's a glamorous singer on a beach, lying by the waves in this satin plum evening gown, acting sultry and pushing her arms through the sand--and then suddenly! a man appears. He was wearing jeans and no shirt, and was supposed to be super mysterious but he had on one of those white Jason hockey masks. Epic.

Spread Thin

Work has been busy! I'm now the proud owner of four classes--two elementary ones, one pre intermediate and one intermediate. Prep time has decreased dramatically over the past week, since there simply isn't enough time to indulge in hours and hours for each class. I do worry about my new schedule stretching me too thin. I feel like a measly teaspoon of butter spread over an increasingly large piece of bread. One of my Businessmen commented tonight that I looked tired--does that mean I don't look 18 anymore?! Maybe I'm finally getting some wrinkles.

Turkish Women and the Headscarf

I found this video on The New York Times Online the other morning--it's a video about women in Turkey and the debate over the headscarf. Not like three women's opinions could provide a comprehensive overview of the subject, but it is more illuminating than nothing...

Baby Steps to English

So it starts with handing out nametags, smiling at students, maintaining silence and then finally saying slowly, "Hi. My name's J. What's your name?" They are tentative at first. We repeat things a lot. I write simple sentences on the board. I gesture with my hands. There's a decent amount of confusion, but often the student who understands what is going on will chatter a word or two of Turkish translation and the others nod in understanding. Pronunciation must be drilled ad nauseum. "Vere's" is corrected to be pronounced as "where's"; minutes are spent coaxing them to fit their tongue under their front teeth to make a convincing "th" sound that doesn't sound like "tr." And somehow, magically, they begin speaking English.

"Where are you from?" "I'm from Turkey. I'm Turkish." "What's your job?" "I'm a student." "What's this?" "It's an apple." "How do you spell apple?"

Yesterday was my first K1 class. I had massive loads of adrenaline coursing through me when I finished my hour and a half with them. I had a ten minute break to switch tracks and get ready to teach my Intermediate students at K17 (made all the more difficult since I stay in the same room for both classes). By the time my business men were sitting in front of me and I realized that I could talk to them, I was relieved and exhausted.

K1 students are excited and energetic, but also get exhausted. From my brief immersions in Japanese and Turkish for the sake of learning how to teach English, I empathize. Your brain feels squeezed dry. Tonight, at the end of the second class I had them organize a short conversation exchange between two friends. A lot of the vocabulary was new to them, but they worked in two teams of 3 to order the sentences. When they stopped shifting paper around, I played the accompanying CD that read the dialogue so they could check their work. Both teams had gotten the conversation ordered correctly and the look of triumph on their faces was unavoidable. I gave a thumbs up and down sign while asking if they got it correct. They all nodded yes and I yelled "Yay!" which only made them smile more.

I am creating them. I am becoming a teacher. I fucking love it!

The Water's Heating Up Under My Kettle

Damn Youth
Next door to Posh English École is a bakery where I bought a poacha this morning. The woman behind the counter spoke a little English and asked me where I was from (Oh! America!), what did I do (Oh! Teacher!), how old I was (Oh! 25! [Yes, I am still lying. To everyone.]). She sullied my mood when she said sweetly, "But you look so young! Maybe 18!" It's hard to mutter that maybe I just seem so young because she's so old, when she's smiling hugely at me. So I just shrugged and said, "Thank you!"

Damn Classes
J is... busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. This week is busy, busy.

I found out Friday that I have a new class starting on Monday--brand new, Elementary students so I'll be starting the first lesson with "Hi. My name's J. What's your name?" When I look at the textbook for the class, I experience mild panic. How do you communicate with people who have basically NO English skills? I haven't had to do that yet. All will be revealed tomorrow. At least I'll finally be getting paid for 15 hours a week. I might be able to afford a beer once in a while. :-P

Saturday morning I redeemed myself with my Pre Int class--the ones I screwed up teaching "but," "although," and "however" with last week. Yeah. I obviously know grammar--but explaining it in simple English when 16 eyes are watching my every move is challenging to say the least.

But THEN I found out Saturday that I had been placed on a surprise rota to cover for a teacher who had to go take care of her babies/sick mother somewhere in Turkey. I get paid for covering her class, which she had already planned. So I showed up to teach her Upper Intermediate class how to use the Future Perfect properly. *sigh* It was so half-assed. Honestly, it's such a pain to decipher someone's notes, stacks of photocopies, etc. I don't know how anyone could WANT to be a substitute teacher and put up with unenthusiastic students who are like, "When's so-and-so coming back? You're sure she's only out for one day?"

Hanging out with my own students is superior.

Damn Food Prices
Observed recently at a large chain store comparable to Walmart:

• Oats, 500g: 4YTL
• American Maple syrup, 8 ounces: 27YTL
• Smirnoff Vodka, 750mL: 50YTL

Musings 33 days in

I woke up this morning, stretched out in bed. The first thing that came to mind was that I really was too concerned about coming to Turkey. I was having a metaphysical crisis of sorts. I thought that there would be something fundamentally different about being here. That my entire being would feel different. That waking up in the morning would be a new sensation, that breathing, speaking, existing would somehow all be challenged and wrought new. Let me tell you, it's normal. Looking back, the fear seemed irrational.

And yet, my days are perhaps abnormal. Or do I mean un-cultural? I spend a lot of time online, and a lot of time at work. I don't know if my expectations for being in Turkey will be fulfilled (learning Turkish; finding out what a Muslim country is when I am in the most liberal, most European city in the country; meeting Turkish people and having Authentic Experiences). The Internet is a constant companion. I do not have to speak Turkish. Could I be anywhere?

I go between two bubbles--my flat and my work. I do live in a bubble here, but I lived in different bubbles in the States. I had home, work, school and various stopping points in between. I did not deviate from my path very often. And here, too, I am creating a path. I am comfortable--in love, even, with the parts of the city that I know. The fundamental difference in Izmir is that I do not possess the infinite possibility of being able to talk to whoever I want whenever I want.

My walk to and from work is my primary contact with The Turkish World. And yet, this contact is minimized, filtered through layers upon layers: I cannot understand the words spoken by anyone around me, except for the occasional tourist; I do not know street names, business names, neighborhoods; I do not know if I am just being appraised as another passerby, or if I am so obviously, hopelessly Other that my shoes/hair/gait cannot help but attract special attention.

In Izmir, the path between my bubbles is bound to silence and ignorance. The silence is startlingly unstartling. I don't have to endure overhearing vapid cell phone conversations. I don't understand what people are whispering or laughing about--is it me? I can't know so there is no point to even worrying. Silence is remarkably indulgent.

I don't know what authenticity is. I am here. I think that is enough.

Bumps in the road

My businessmen made me mad tonight! My class is down to a consistent five students and tonight only two of them had done their homework. Getting through a homework check was like watching molasses run down a hill in the middle of January--slower than you could imagine. Their low energy and enthusiasm really threw off my plans for the lesson. I introduced the Second Conditional to them--which they absorbed pretty well either because a) I knew the grammar point inside and out so I presented it well; or b) they were too tired and/or bored to question anything I said. Hopefully the former.

I got really flustered on Sunday with my Pre Int class. I tried to present the simplest grammar to them but still managed to get all turned around, thus ending the class on a historically low note. I'm going to have to work pretty hard on Saturday to restore their confidence in me. Luckily they like me--as evidenced from their attempts to help me explain my own botching of the grammar, and then their consoling, "Have a good day" as they filed out at the end of class when it was obvious that I was frustrated, frustrated, frustrated.

My first official observation went fine. I don't think I'll be asked to leave at the end of my trial period, but there are things I have to work on--controlling/reprimanding students' use of Turkish in the classroom; error correction techniques. Despite these weaknesses in my teaching, I am not required to show my lesson plans to anyone for review on a regular basis--I ask enough questions every day to prove that I am working my ass off. So I guess that means they trust me at least a little bit.

Anyway... With the world economy slumping as it is, new classes have been a little slow to get going around PEÉ. Us new teachers with pathetically low hours (I am currently getting paid for 10 hours a week) are getting an advance so we can scrape by the next little while. Hopefully it actually picks up, and until then, I'm just glad that I don't have to pay rent.

Çeşme!

At last! A trip that justified leaving İzmir and spending two hours en route! George and I got up and headed to Çeşme (Chesh-may) around 9am. We caught a city bus, then a private coach type bus, then, once we got to Çeşme, a dolmuş (a hybrid taxi / bus sort of thing) that took us to our beach: Altinkum. Since it's October, and Bayrum is over and everyone is back at work or in university, Altinkum--which is known for being crowded since it's so divine--was virtually empty. We shared it with approximately five other people throughout the entire afternoon. Though my Professional Photographer Brother could probably nitpick, I think some of my photos belong in a calendar--without people they're so picturesque!



It was practically Cloud 9. The water was so blue, the sky so clear, the waves so soft and warm and beautiful on the golden sand, the wind just enough to keep us from getting hot while we baked in the sun. I got a little too much sun, but my face didn't burn and I look way better than George with his raccoon tan around his eyes from his sunglasses...

It was an expensive trip as far as bus fare goes (from my door to the Aegean's shore and back cost 28YTL, which is a considerable chunk out of my meager first pay check), but it was worth it. It was an amazing day for it, and with the weather bound to turn cooler soon, I can justify the splurge. After a couple hours we sent a text message to our Director of Studies: "Sorry. George and I decided to quit and open a language shack on Altinkum Beach. Sondra can have my White Out."

Work
Still going strong. I administered my first exam tonight to my Intermediate class. It was nice and relaxing and I got to sit and look at my students, a nice change from them normally watching me sweat bullets. This was the class that I inherited from three previous teachers (over the course of the last couple months), so the class has shrunk considerably from its initial enrollment. The six who are left (including one woman) form a pretty nice group of students, though. My businessmen! They're always in there in their suits and ties. They're a hard bunch to impress and I don't know if maybe they just feel silly learning English from such a little girl, but they haven't dropped out yet so they're motivated.

I have my first observed lesson this Saturday. I'm a bit nervous since this is one of the check points towards actually having a job for a year at PEÉ. I'm sure it'll be fine but it'd be so absurd if I ended up being sent back to the States... I'll be teaching my Pre Intermediate class and they're a fun bunch. Last week we were learning dating/relationship vocabulary and I made them do a speed dating activity where they had to create personas for ridiculous photos (like a clown in a magenta costume; a guy with huge red, yellow and blue mohawk spikes; a gold digger; a deep-sea diver; etc). They had a good time and I think we're developing rapport, but I'm still learning a lot about how to speak slowly and deliver instructions clearly.

Turkish Friend?
In the front office of PEÉ there are about five or six women who do various secretarial duties. One of them is this super sweet one who knows enough English to communicate with me. She's 21 and is a student, so she only works a couple days a week, but we've started emailing each other to make plans to hang out. She's promised to take me to the cool venues in Izmir--I need a guide--but it'll have to wait until I get my first substantial paycheck and can afford to go out. It's exciting, though...

Adventures in the Grocery Store
Okay, here are my new foods of the week.



Milk. In Turkey, milk is primarily available in vacuum sealed boxes and is unrefrigerated. I heard weird things about it from people at work--that it tastes super gross compared to regular, refrigerated milk--so I've been avoiding it. I decided to suck it up and spend the 80 kuruş to find out what it tasted like. I stuck it in the fridge before work and just tried some. I can report that I am pleasantly surprised at its drinkability. It's got a mild flavor of baby formula, and it doesn't taste like the rich and amazing California milk I'm used to, but I will definitely be buying more of it. Now if I could just find granola...

Peanut Butter. The jar that I bought had the creamy, whipped consistency of Jiff PB. A tiny bite of it proves it to be suited for the filling of a candy bar--this "peanut spread" is more like peanut-tinted Nutella. It's creamy, sugary, and nothing like peantus ground up with salt. Oh well.

Mystery Meat. George and I couldn't figure out if this meat needed to be cooked, or if it's salami. I guess we'll find out tomorrow when we try to make sandwiches to take on our day trip to a beach out past Çeşme.

The "Honeymoon Phase" has yet to end

I have never been so consistently happy. I have never not complained as little as I have over the past three weeks. The one thing that I can say that I honestly hate about life in Turkey is that the doorknobs here really suck. They require more torque to operate than their American counterparts. Okay. Big deal. Is that all?!?!

I am not concerned that I am getting paid absolute crap--I have been working probably four times as many hours as I am getting paid for (prep time versus actual teaching time). It doesn't bother me that stores close early at night here and I don't have food for lunch tomorrow. It didn't bother me when, at our hotel in Kuşadası, there wasn't any hot water for showers for two days. I am not annoyed to be walking all over the place. I am not irritated by the number of people crammed into the city. The dirt and the noise do not bother me. I am fine with the unpredictable availability of toilet paper in public restrooms and have learned to carry my own. I don't care that I can't find refrigerated milk and have yet to become brave enough to pick one of the eight brands available in tetrapaks.

This is the way life is here. I can't believe that I'm not complaining. What is happening to me?!

Let me wax poetic. İzmir, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways... Seviyorum (I love):

• not needing car. I <3> lowering my carbon footprint.
  
• buying my groceries from tiny stores next to where I live. Though big business must surely exist, local businesses appear to be thriving even in downtown urban centers. Some chain stores exist but they are smaller than anything I've ever seen. Wal-Mart what?
  
• the absurdities of life. Turkish traffic. Turkish fashion. Turkish encounters.
• the bread. My god, the bread! Flat; fluffy; dry; chewy; buttery; flaky; bagel-like; stuffed with goat-chevre and parsley; baked with olives; a special bread available only during Ramadan; pita like you've never eaten before; sprinkled with regular sesame seeds; sprinkled with toasted sesame seeds; brushed with egg whites before being baked. Bread soaked in soup. Bread by itself. Bread, bread, bread.
  
• the Aegean. Every day, walking along the water. I love the smell, the wind, the fishermen catching fish at all hours of the day. It's beautiful at dawn, under the noon sun, at twilight and when it reflects the lights of the ships late in the dark.
• that they don't care about small change. When buying fruit and veg, or paying your bill for that matter, Turks round up or down to the nearest 25 kuruş (cents).
  
• the tea. Teeny little glasses of black tea are consumed more often than the world-renowned Turkish coffee. Sugar cubes are always served on the side. Little spoons rest on the saucer. So far I have seen one Starbucks in Turkey--one--and only once have I seen anyone toting around those stupid paper coffee cups that just end up in landfills. Turks sit down to drink their tea and when they're done, they wash the glass and use it again. Bless their hearts.

Out of Izmir and Back

If I had known that we were going to Tourist Land, I probably wouldn't have wanted to go to Kuşadası for 2 nights. You can check out the pictures in my album. Basically, I stopped taking pictures once we got there because it wasn't as amazing as I had hoped. It was an expensive two days and cruise-goers clogged sidewalks, identified like cattle with their neon plastic wrist bands. There was one total downer--on our way back to town after going out to Panucak Beach, we saw police hanging around what had been an accident sight. A body was on the ground, covered with newspaper. I guess they were waiting for the ambulance (or hearse or whatever?) to arrive? It was pretty sobering.

There were 9 of us altogether (7 women... yikes), plus a little toy-like dog named Nippy. Everyone was from work, except for a Turkish woman who is married to one of the men at work. I'm glad to be home. *sigh* I uploaded a some photos to my site, and explain a lot in there but here are the...

Highlights and Redeeming Experiences:

--- I finally found postcards. I've been in Izmir for WEEKS and hadn't found a single postcard. They were practically everywhere in Kuşadası.

--- Spending some quality time with the Aegean Sea:




--- Getting a snippet of the end of the Call to Prayer. Notice that everyone does not stop what they're doing (disassembling the massive tents/bazaar that had been going on all day long):




--- Finding something authentic. Much to our surprise, George and I managed to find actual Turks in Kuşadası. As we trailed through some endless shopping district last night, he heard music being played. He followed it and found a tiny little hole in the wall type restaurant venue where a traditional Turkish band was setting up. Though the others wanted to hang out and drink first in an Irish pub and then some bar called Golden Oldies where they met Turkish break dancers, George and I split off to watch a four-person band (a singer, a clarinet player, a violinist and a drummer--all male) and Turks dance to their hearts' content. Pretty awesome.

Moral of the Story
Though I was glad to get away for a couple of days and lay on the beach, I think next time I get a few days off work, I'm going to plan them more carefully...

Mini-Vacation!

Hurray! We're leaving for Kuşadası (koosha-DAH-sah) this morning. Our bus ride is an hour and a half there; round trip fare: 22YTL (so about $20 US). It's cooled off a bit, but I'm bringing my bathing suit just in case I get the guts to jump in the Aegean. Who cares if it's going to be frigid?! I made it this far... I'll post when I get back Thursday night with lots of pictures.

Donning floaty fins & paddling out of the tsunami

It wasn't quite so bad today as I thought it would be. I woke up super early and got to school as the sun was coming up over Izmir--it was a beautiful morning and put me in a good mood. Even though it's a long walk to work, I enjoy the time it gives me. Every time I walk it, I'm a little bit different. It's good to consider that.

My new class was a little bit awkward, and I was mildly frazzled, but it was certainly manageable. This class of 7 is mostly younger women--a couple musicians who want to be able to take cello lessons in Europe some day, some professionals there for the promotions attached to good English scores, students--and a couple older men.

I was annoyed when, as I continued to lie about being 25 to my students, some girl who looks 17 commented on how I looked more like 21. Thanks. I would chock it up to mistakenly saying the wrong number--kind of like I do when I'm trying to order in Turkish--but the girl had quite good speaking skills otherwise, so I would be lying to myself. *sigh* Maybe in a few years I can look 23. Before my class even started, one of the Turkish girls from the front office said something in her broken English about how she thought I was the youngest teacher at PEÉ. "Maybe youngest teacher ever? I think you only little older than me." Yes, yes. Are we done yet?!

Does anyone know where to buy wrinkles? It's hard enough finding dental floss in Turkey, so if you'd just mail the wrinkles in a care package, I'd really appreciate it.

Tomorrow will be smoother. I was able to spend all afternoon working on my lesson plan and I feel a lot more comfortable than I did this morning. The scheduling system is confusing so I'll elaborate. I'm only teaching two types of classes right now. They both meet for a total of 5 hours a week, but they meet on either three or two days. So the Saturday/Sunday class is a particularly gnarly block of time to plan for and get under control. I prefer the Monday/Tuesday/Friday class, although the downside to it is that my students arrive tired (business men still in their suits and ties) and are more susceptible to the mood swings of the five day work week.

Upcoming Mini-Vacation
The end of Ramadan is almost here which means two things: 1) no more sleep-disturbing drumming; and 2) the celebration, Bairam, which lasts the first three days of the Islamic month immediately following Ramadan--when Muslims visit their families. Us lucky fools at PEÉ get a 3-day weekend. Tuesday morning, a few of us are piling over to Kuşadası--a resort-type town a few hours south of Izmir. I've been too swamped to know much about the plans, but it's been agreed that we're doing it on the cheap--everyone's either just started teaching at PEÉ or has just come back from vacation, so the wallets are getting thin.

Part of me doesn't even want to go to Kuşadası because I know I'm going to be tired by then and could use the alone time, but it's my last (and only so far) opportunity to travel beyond Izmir before it gets blustery and cold. I'll just suck it up so I can see a different part of the Aegean. I can rest next weekend. Besides, maybe I'll start to get the hang of this teaching thing...

Tossed in the deep end

Ok, today the madness began. I don't really even have time to write about it because I should be stressed out. Long story short: I went into school for a workshop session, went and got a tea, came back at 12:58 to start planning for my 7:20 night class, found out that enrollment is up and I will start a new Pre-Intermediate class tomorrow at 9:30am. Ok, so yeah there's stress, but what makes it worse is that the building is closed form 9pm (basically we finish our classes and are hurried out since everyone wants to lock up and go home) until 8am. Brilliant. In other words, I needed to haul ass and finish as much as possible at work, where I could get help, and then do some more at home tonight, and then come early in the morning to prep.

I gulped down the panic, plowed through my lesson plan for tonight, got it nearly 100% finished and then realized that I didn't know how to succinctly explain Defining Relative Clauses (who, that, which, where, when) and more importantly, when we can omit them. But shit, that's half of what I was trying to teach my students tonight.

So between 5:48 and 6:45 I held the starring role in an action/grammar movie. Basically, I only just held it together about my complete lack of preparation, and all the senior teachers in the office coached me through it. It was hilarious in all the moments when I didn't want to scream with frustration. It was the grammatical equivalent of successfully defusing a bomb only moments before it detonated, killing millions.

So I came home, all ready to rock and roll on my lesson plan for tomorrow morning--the one that my Lesson Planning Goddess, Sharon basically dictated to me in a frantic rush between 5:14 and 5:48--and I realized that I forgot to bring home the text book and only grabbed the student workbook and a few photocopied tidbits. So jeez. It's like the bomb is ticking again.

I will be so glad for a beer tomorrow night. I might even go back to Bora and see if I can get my special discount... :-P

Sticking Out Like A Sore Thumb

Do you remember how I said that my Turkish buddy in Grass Valley said that I would be able to pass for being Turkish? Well, he lied. I do not look Turkish. My hair is too light, my skin too fair, my clothes too scandalous, my accent too American, my iPod too wealthy, and my shoes too flip-floppy. In other words, I stick out like a sore thumb.

Of course, I don't stick out as badly as some tourists. I instantly spotted them a block away--the blond man (a dead giveaway--women may dye their hair, but men here never do) and the woman wearing a spaghetti strap tank top, carrying something... oh, is that a?... yup, it's a guidebook to Turkey. I saw a different woman a few days ago who was obviously foreign. From the way she wore her dingy white socks slouched around her ankles to the way she clutched her mammoth purse to her body in fear of having it ripped from her possession, everything about her oozed Tourist.

This coming from the girl who had the audacity to expose her Turkish/English dictionary on the bus to look up random words that whizzed by. This coming from the girl who continues to wear flip-flops to walk to work, even though she knows full well that no Turk in their right mind wears cheap flip-flops outside. They're for inside.

Of course, being an outsider has its benefits... Last night, Sondra and I went on a beer run while George finished up cooking a curry for dinner. At George's suggestion we meandered across the street to a market we hadn't been in yet, thinking we might avoid the shop-owner on the other side who had ripped George off (overcharging him for 2 bananas when he gave me the same for half-price). Anyway, this market had the cheap Turkish beer we were looking for and I successfully asked in Turkish for 4, please. The slick shop keeper looked at me and Sondra (who had made the mistake of talking in English about the candy they sold before he came over to help us) and asked where we were from. He spoke English. Uh oh.

"Oh! American? I like American ver much. I speak English... Oh! English teacher? You remind me I want to speak English again... But only with you. I want to learn English from you." Wow, we feel so special, thank you. It's like a come-on combined with a trip to the registrar to enroll in classes.

We got stuck into this whole long conversation with this 40-something guy--slicked back hair and pudge bulging from his waistband. I made the mistake of asking his name: "Bora," he said, extending his hand across the counter to shake mine. "J," I said. As soon as he had my hand in his, he enclosed it with the other hand, flipped mine over and examined it while asking, "Are you married?" *** This is not so forward here as Americans consider it. Here, EVERYONE asks if you're married. Even your students. It's often followed with, "Do you have a boyfriend? Why not?"*** "No," I said laughing. It took forever to extricate my hand from the man who went on to explain that Bora means strongest wind in the world, and that it also means handsome in Turkish. Yup. I bet.

After our insistence that we must return for dinner and that yes, we would visit Bora again, we finally paid (4.50 YTL for four 16 ounce beers) and got back to the flat, I asked George and our co-worker how much they had paid for the same beer. "Oh," Shannon said in her Scottish accent, "I'd say a can of Efes is usually 2.15 YTL. It's pretty standard and you should never pay more than that." Well. I didn't. So sticking out like a sore thumb is occasionally going to save me money in Izmir--a city where there are rarely fixed price tags on anything and Turkish men are reputed (by a couple of my female co-workers) for wanting to practice their English.

End of Week 1

I have been in Turkey 12 days. I have spent the last 9 of those at work. I will be paid for 4 hours of teaching. I can only laugh. People at work are like, "Are you here again?" Yes. Ah, the life of a new teacher. Broke, hauling ass to perform well and be professional.

I had my second class tonight. I think that my first class was better--I was more energetic and I had more students. Maybe I drove two of them away last night?! I wasn't nervous tonight, which was nice. My students are older--all with wedding bands on their fingers even though some are possibly just late 20-somethings. Mostly men. There's a banker, a logistics coordinator, a college graduate, a mechanical engineer. Can't remember what else. They are often learning English because they are eligible for promotions at work if they can get above a certain score on the TOEFL ibt test. So some of them are eligible and attend consistently. Others--well, we'll see about them.

I've been walking an hour and a half a day--to and from work. My feet are finally healing from the blisters of breaking in three new pairs of shoes. *sigh* But with the exercise at least I can justify all of the Turkish buttery croissant-type-things I've been eating... Yum... Little Debbie and Orowheat have nothing on the legit bakeries over here. The demise of the small, specialized business is a total loss to American life.

It's Tuesday night--tomorrow is my weekend. I'm so glad to have Wednesday and Thursday free. I will sleep in and wait for the repair man to come and fix our pathetic oven. And then I will go take photos (it's finally time to put together my Fashion and Transport photo essays) and find something delicious to cook for dinner.

One Down... Hundreds to go...

I was so nervous for my first lesson tonight! Every classroom doesn't have it's own overhead projector and so we're supposed to set them up in advance to make sure there isn't a conflict of demand--and I accidentally grabbed one that another teacher needed, so that was a little awkward.

The worst moment by far was entering the classroom and facing that feeling of expectation and anxiety from the students--"Who is this new teacher?" But I smiled and muddled through my introduction (I did fib--to my students, I am 25 and have three years of prior experience teaching at language schools in San Francisco and Montreal). I only have five students, even though eleven are enrolled. Between Ramadan and the endless changes of teachers, we've probably lost a bunch along the way. Hopefully they will come on a regular basis, though. It's easier to teach more students than fewer because there is more energy and they can work with more partners and get more practice speaking.

But by the end of our two 45 minute lessons, they seemed to be having a good enough time. I announced that it was 9 o'clock and they looked at their watches like, "Oh--so it is!" I think one of them even said that the class had gone by quickly. Could I ask for more?!?! :-) It was a great note to start on. Hopefully tomorrow is half as good.

J is... doubling her deodorant.

I'm off to the chopping block. Tonight at 7:20 (or as they like to say in Turkey, 19:20) is my first class. Just get it over with already. I've been thinking about it for days. The only thing that is truly nerve-wracking about it is that I am the FOURTH teacher to get this class in the past couple of months due to scheduling nightmares (their long-term teacher leaving contract, then the replacement going on vacation, then needing to move the class back to their originally scheduled time which conflicted with the third teacher's schedule, to me). I doubt they will be happy to see me this stroll in this evening. I anticipate that I will have to pull out the hard-core charm. It's okay.

As usual, I'd rather get the hard stuff over with first so the rest of it seems like a piece of cake. Give me that first hurdle so I can trip over it. I'll report back later.

Outing: Güzelbahçe
Yesterday I went to a small town with George. It wasn't terribly exciting (the highlights were: 1) an amazing breeze; 2) a perfect and ripe fig plucked off a family fruit tree) but photos are posted in a new album.

Ramadan Drummers
I told you that they were loud, but I REALLY wanted to get a video clip so you could experience the cacophony of noise bouncing around at 3am as the drummers go down Midhat Pasha Street and then back up it maybe 20 minutes later. This happens every night but I now sleep through it, thankfully.





Work
I went for drinks last night with a couple of female teachers from Posh English École. "I hope you appreciate how posh your job is here," one of them said to me. And I was able to get all kinds of info from them about how fab PEÉ is compared to other language schools they worked for in Malaysia, Taiwan, Poland and the like. "If you're thinking of doing this as a career," one said to me, "PEÉ is great for professional development--consider spending at least two years here." Uh... Ok. Don't know if I'm ready to make decisions like that, but good to know that I stumbled upon a gem.

I got my first class assigned--I start on Monday. Eee! Time to get to work and start planning!

Training Begins

I had my first observation at work today. I’m so excited to start teaching. I feel so fortunate to have gotten a job at PEÉ. All of us newbies had input workshops yesterday and today (more to follow in coming days), recapping PEÉ methodology for classroom management and lesson planning. I feel like the pedagogy meshes very well with the preparation that I got in my CELTA course. Hurray for professional development! Of course, there’s going to be a lot of work, but I don’t feel overwhelmed… yet.

I will probably start teaching next week (or possibly this weekend, but that is unlikely). Until then I am expected to snoop around the teacher resource room and familiarize myself with the texts, supplements and procedures for everything. The rule at PEÉ is: You’re only in trouble if you don’t ask questions. Not too hard for me since I can do it ad nauseum in my sleep.

Shocker: I think that I have encountered someone who is even more anxious than I am. One of my fellow inductees is clearly concerned by PEÉ’s laissez faire welcome—she reiterates everything that is said to her and copies professional engagements with obsessive control in black ink in her Day Planner. “Oh my God,” she muttered. “I’m becoming my father.” It’s amusing to witness and puts my own obsession with perfection in perspective. Of course, she starts teaching on Saturday and doesn’t want to f- up. Am I naïve or right to think that I can handle whatever is thrown at me?

I keep forgetting that there is a one month trial period at PEÉ. I could still botch everything and be shipped back home like a crate of cereal in a few weeks… Boy, that’d be a miserable end to this blog. I could never live down the shame! I could always fake it for a few days. *wink*

Tomorrow evening I have another observation but the flat-mates are planning an expedition to a mountain or a beach or somewhere earlier. It’s supposed to rain. Oh well, it’ll still be beautiful and maybe it’ll even cool off a few degrees!

Coming soon: photo-essays on fashion and transport in Izmir.

Random Stuff

Flatmates
Sondra and I have hit it off very well, sharing stories of our lives and spending time exploring our neighborhood together. She finished her Masters in English recently, spent time in the Peace Corps in Chad and has also been to Japan. She's very dark-haired and with her sunglasses covering her hazel eyes, she could pass for Turkish. But the large tree tattoo on her shoulder and her tank tops contradict the Turkish vibe we find in our neighborhood.

I feel a bit Other-ish walking around, like everyone is looking at us. When I mentioned this to the three female (all blond and wavy-haired, blue-eyed) teachers from PEÉ they told me: Get used to it. Ok. But it's still a goal to figure out how to blend in as much as possible.

George is a bit of an enigma. I cannot tell if he's shy about living with two women--perhaps it's a problem, even at 26? He's not unfriendly, he's just a bit sharp and reserved. He arrived weeks before Sondra or me and he's already started teaching, which has him on his toes. He's from Manchester (I made a fool of myself by asking if that was a suburb...) and is into African drumming. His slang is confusing and Sondra and I often ask him to explain or repeat things he says. I'm sure it adds insult to injury that he can't speak any language without feeling like his listener is flummoxed.

Food
I was asked about the cuisine available in restaurants. Honestly, I don't know yet. I was only at one cafe on Saturday where they served traditional Turkish fare. Sondra, George and I are all budgeting ourselves to make it to our first pay day (sometime in October), so we have been careful not to splurge. Cheap foods include: fresh vegetables and ekmek (bread). Ekmek is made daily and is bought in pretty big loaves for 75 cents (The New Turkish Lira is close enough to the dollar that I just pretend they're the same).

There are lots of tiny stores crammed along the sidewalk and they all sell the same sorts of things: different brands of bottled water, a better selection of fruits and veggies, bigger or smaller loaves of ekmek. We can walk a few minutes in either direction and have loads of food to choose from. I LOVE not needing a car!

Watch the World Go By
What would we do without our balcony? We sit out there a lot--more, it seems, than other neighbors who use their balconies primarily for drying laundry. The street below is fascinating: boys playing hide and seek (around and under parked cars--yeah! dirty!); shop owners sitting outside on chairs; people buying groceries or drinking water. Water must be purchased in 5 gallon jugs every few days (tap water has high levels of arsenic)--consequently, the street is lined with water shops. Just now I saw a delivery guy roll up to a water store on his scooter and pull three of these huge water jugs onto his scooter. He balanced two on the floor by his feet and placed a third on his lap before driving off, precariously dodging traffic. It's better than televizyon.

Close Encounters of the Turkish Kind
Sondra and I hardly speak a word of Turkish. Yet we're able to maneuver the marketplace with a handful of words, especially the oft-repeated thank you. Shopkeepers are very friendly and want to engage in conversation, at which point I say apologetically, İngilizce (which only means "English" because in the moment I am too flustered to ever remember to say the proper Turkçe bilmiyorum--"I don't speak Turkish"). They smile back and try to speak as simply as possible but it's lost on us. My brain is so confused--I constantly squash the instinct to respond in French. It's a foreign language, right? Just not the right one...

Yesterday was Sunday. Many shops are closed then and fresh vegetables become rare. So last night, when I was on the balcony listening to the Call to Prayer blasted from a prayer room below our flat and noticed that a fruit market had opened up a couple doors away, I ran down to see if there was anything I could add to my dinner of rice and sautéed eggplant. After a belabored "conversation" with the shopkeeper, I was given the six bitsy shallots and one green vegetable (was it a cucumber or a zucchini? I couldn't tell yet...) I had chosen. "No problem," he said. I kept gesturing with my wallet that I wanted to pay but he waved me away and I carried off my plunder.

Later, George brought home two Turkish blokes. When he taught English in Manchester he had a Turkish student from İzmir who gave George some local connections--including this student's brother. So George has begun hanging out with the brother and his friend and muddling through the language barrier. They came home to sit on the balcony last night and drink beer when the pub was closed. Sondra and I were useless. I was totally in awe of George, though. His Turkish is far from perfect, and every so often he would take a huge breath and try to keep going, but he is trying. Bravely struggling with a new language. New goal: Emulate George.

Electrical Outlets
In our flat you won't find any of the spoiled excess in the States (where you can plug every electrical appliance you own into the wall at once and suck down enough power to operate a small jet plane). Here, the bathroom and each bedroom has one outlet--not a double socket like in the States. Pick. Do you want to plug in your computer, the fan, or the vacuum cleaner? In the bathroom, is it going to be the washing machine or the hair dryer? The kitchen is the height of luxury with four outlets.

Jetlag
I'm doing very well with the time change. After the first 24 hours of being completely exhausted, I have been fine. I think the combination of melatonin, not drinking alcohol and arriving at night has been a benefit. Hopefully there will be no delayed effects because I feel great today.

Work
Yes, eventually I will work. Today Sondra and I are going to PEÉ for our orientation. I'll get a tour of the school and get blasted by expectation. Perhaps we'll do some classroom observation. I'm glad to feel so settled and antsy at home--it means I'm ready to find out about the next thing!

Riding A Turkish Elevator

Here I am riding the elevator in my apartment building. There aren't panels that slide open and closed like we're used to--rather you push open a heavy metal door. Also, this elevator brings new meaning to the phrase "elevator music." When you get in the elevator and start pushing buttons, Turkish songs are played as quiet yet lively background music. I've watched this enough times that it now seems dorky, but I'll let you be your own judge...

Landing

Wow. All I can say is wow. I'm going to post pictures on my photo site (link on the left) but since I haven't gotten the wireless password yet, I haven't been using my computer. Maybe tomorrow?

My flight out of San Francisco was fine. Strangest sight: a man carrying a cowboy pinata on the plane as hand luggage. I sat next to a 13 year old girl who was going to Prague for her grandmother's funeral. She talked a lot, which was pleasant for awhile, but I was glad when she got tired and fell asleep. I was worried that my arrival in Munich would require a mad dash across terminals to get to my connection for Izmir. In reality, I got off the plane and walked 50 feet to my gate. I had plenty of time in Munich, and then the plane was delayed for Izmir. I was really starting to crash and took a few naps slumped over on my fully-stuffed backpack. When we finally boarded, we were herded down a stairway (hey... wait a minute...), out onto the runway and onto a bus (not what I expected). In general, Lufthansa fed me really well and I was able to make it to Izmir without starving. They put Southwest Airlines paltry peanut offering to shame. Lufthansa might have served carrots in a mysterious sauce, and the chicken might have been super dried out, but was I going to complain? Hell no. They even gave me a candy bar.

Turkish Customs were so friendly that I didn't even know they were happening. I paid US$20 for a tourist visa and it was stamped and I was let into the country without being asked a single question. It wasn't until I had my bags and was wheeling them out of the airport that I realized that that quiet stamp had been Customs. In the US, they rake me over the coals until I am a flustered mass of explanations.

One of the teachers from my school was standing waiting for me after I got my bags. I was so happy to see my name on a piece of paper! I got ushered into a taxi and driven through the balmy night to my apartment about 25 minutes away. My apartment is on the fifth floor of a building, up a very cool elevator (video to come). It's a busy boulevard with five- and six-story apartment buildings lining the road for at least a mile on both sides. You've got to fit 2.6 million people into a city somehow. The balcony off our living room offers a sliver of a bay view through a break in a couple of buildings. I met my flatmates, Sondra (American) and George (British). Hopefully we'll all get along but it bodes well so far. I just feel bad for George--living with two American women.

Since I arrived last, I got the only room left, but it's really not that bad. The apartment complex has this weird courtyard tower that the building is built around. Three windows in our flat look out onto it and it'd be great except the roof of it got boarded up awhile ago. So technically my room has a window, but it looks out into this courtyard. When I opened the window, it smelled like laundry. There are a lot worse smells. Apparently my room is cozy in winter because the courtyard traps heat. Until then, I'm commandeering the floor fan because my room is stifling otherwise.

Izmir does not cool down at night. It's just hot constantly. It was hot when I popped about five melatonin last night and finally went to bed sometime around 2 (I don't have a clock yet so everything is approximate), it was hot when I woke up a couple hours later to the Ramadan drummers walking down the street beating their drums to let people know that dawn is coming and they should eat while there's still time (I'm going to try to take a video of it tonight. It's such a trip.) and it was especially hot when we went out later today around noon. It has been a long time since I have had sweat literally running down me from doing nothing more than standing in the sun.

Today I wandered around Izmir with some of the other female teachers from Posh English École. It was fun for awhile but I got exhausted really quickly. We had lunch at this amazing cafe/lime orchard. We sat on picnic table benches under the trees and ate and drank for about 3 hours. I have decided not to drink alcohol for at least a few days while my body adjusts. I have enough things to deal with... People were talking and joking around and all of it went over my head like a jet plane. They decided to keep hanging out but I came back home to get some time alone to decompress and collect myself before maybe going out as a group again later.

Nap time.