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.
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2 comments:
Good post! I suppose what you can conclude from this is that daily life in a lot (most?) other countries isn't much different from daily life in this one. The culture difference you were expecting comes from interacting with Turkish culture (Turkish people). It's hard to do when you have to spend most of your time around English teachers and students. So open a fruit stand and hawk something. :-)
This all sounds vaguely familiar. It would be somewhat simple to refuse to learn Russian, but without the language I'm not as independent as I would like to be (because I have to rely too heavily on friends who speak both Russian and English).
Aside from independence, the motivation to learn Russian comes when you see a fight on the metro, and you want to tell others to break it up or you want to gossip about it with the passenger sitting next to you.
Also, in Moscow, occasionally people will ask you how to get somewhere in the metro or will ask you to move so they can get off the metro. At first I responded with, "I don't understand" (in Russian of course). But now I have learned that I move out of the way if someone says something to me on the metro, and I tell the person asking for directions that I don't know.
Eventually I hope to get to a point where I can show the person how to get somewhere on the metro map, but my Russian is a long way from even this basic conversation (not to mention that I usually really don't know how to get to where they are asking).
Thanks for the post! I have faith that you will get to see the Turkey you went to see, eventually. Your treks outside the city show that you aren't going to just do the norm all the time. :)
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