Monday, September 29, 2008
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.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
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...
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...
Friday, September 26, 2008
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
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
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, September 22, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
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!
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!
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, September 15, 2008
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!
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!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
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...
Saturday, September 13, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Travel Manifesto
I am afraid. I am one of the most worried and anxious people you will meet. I obsess over details, I ask questions endlessly, I try to anticipate pitfalls so as to side-step them. And when I have anticipated all of the potential problems, when I have completed my to-do list, I find more things to be worried about. If I had a power animal, it would be a hummingbird.
I have been trying to pinpoint my elusive and lurking fear. Why am I afraid of Turkey? The basics are covered. I have a place to stay, help with the visa process, peers who will speak English, a job that will allow me to live comfortably. And yet, a fear continues to lurk, dampening my spirits as my departure nears. Why?
I fear that I will disappear. In America I know how to exist--I can shop for food and read the labels on everything, successfully mail letters, call strangers on the phone and discover information. I have friends and family who create a network of expectations for me and I know how to operate comfortably within them. In Turkey, everything will be different. I will struggle to learn Turkish, to make friends, to immerse myself in authenticity and not cop out with English-speakers; shopping will be a challenge; getting to and from work will be different; and I will have a new job--my first job--and my pride will demand excellence to counteract my fear of failure.
Despite this seemingly crippling anxiety, here I am, about to leave myself behind in pursuit of another self. I know that J must exist in Turkey, I just have to find her. Because if I can exist in Turkey, then we all could exist anywhere. We would change, adapt, grow, settle. And I must understand the world beyond America. In theory I know that it exists but I want to be part of it.
When driving down a Canadian highway last week, I noticed that the road signs were different from American ones. Not in a major way--they notify drivers of upcoming exits differently--but it was enough to momentarily cast an alien pall over the world. It took me a few moments to realize that it doesn't matter that it is different because the signs still work. Ours is not the only way. This might seem trivial now, but at the time it struck me rather forcefully. What else is there that works besides the monolithic American Way? It is this curiosity that compels me to leave, no matter my fear.
I'm like a zygot floating in embryonic fluid and America is the womb. It's time to get born.
I have been trying to pinpoint my elusive and lurking fear. Why am I afraid of Turkey? The basics are covered. I have a place to stay, help with the visa process, peers who will speak English, a job that will allow me to live comfortably. And yet, a fear continues to lurk, dampening my spirits as my departure nears. Why?
I fear that I will disappear. In America I know how to exist--I can shop for food and read the labels on everything, successfully mail letters, call strangers on the phone and discover information. I have friends and family who create a network of expectations for me and I know how to operate comfortably within them. In Turkey, everything will be different. I will struggle to learn Turkish, to make friends, to immerse myself in authenticity and not cop out with English-speakers; shopping will be a challenge; getting to and from work will be different; and I will have a new job--my first job--and my pride will demand excellence to counteract my fear of failure.
Despite this seemingly crippling anxiety, here I am, about to leave myself behind in pursuit of another self. I know that J must exist in Turkey, I just have to find her. Because if I can exist in Turkey, then we all could exist anywhere. We would change, adapt, grow, settle. And I must understand the world beyond America. In theory I know that it exists but I want to be part of it.
When driving down a Canadian highway last week, I noticed that the road signs were different from American ones. Not in a major way--they notify drivers of upcoming exits differently--but it was enough to momentarily cast an alien pall over the world. It took me a few moments to realize that it doesn't matter that it is different because the signs still work. Ours is not the only way. This might seem trivial now, but at the time it struck me rather forcefully. What else is there that works besides the monolithic American Way? It is this curiosity that compels me to leave, no matter my fear.
I'm like a zygot floating in embryonic fluid and America is the womb. It's time to get born.
Monday, September 8, 2008
According to the countdown on my google homepage, I have 3 days, 11 hours and 59 minutes until my plane takes off from San Francisco for Turkey. I have occasionally woken up in the morning with total anxiety about leaving but being in Canada for a week was really relaxing. Today, today I must start packing my suitcases.
For a miser like me, I've bought what seems like a gazillion little travel items. Here are some of the best:
For a miser like me, I've bought what seems like a gazillion little travel items. Here are some of the best:
- Digital luggage scale ($25) -- a worthy purchase because there's no other way I'll be able to keep my checked luggage to 32 kilograms each.
- Amazon Kindle -- I'm so excited about my e-reader. I read a review that called it the equivalent of a Victorian iPod. I'm ok with that. Reading is a dying art and though putting tomes into a machine doesn't help the romance factor of curling up with a book, we've got to keep reading alive however we can. Besides, there's no way that I'm schlepping pounds of paper around the world. I'll take the entire Oxford Dictionary, fluffy novels, history and linguistics, travel books about Turkey, and some resources for teaching English, all in a featherlight 10.3 ounce gadget. The digital age has its glory.
- Canada patches ($2) -- I had mixed emotions about buying Canadian patches to sew onto my backpack. Am I copping out of being an American or just being smart? Aren't terrorists and other unsavory types smart enough to know that lots of Americans pretend to be Canadian? Technically I am Canadian but it would be impossible to deny that I'm a born and bred American. In the end, I'm sure I'll end up stitching one of the little flags onto my backpack for good measure.
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