So I'm using one of my few nonwork Internet opportunities to catch up a tiny bit on this; in theory I should be getting at-home internet any day now, at which point my blogging will expand prodigiously I'm sure.
Autumn in Istanbul is kind of a more temperate autumn in Boston, minus the trees changing color and plus about 10 or 20 degrees, depending. People are still out at all the outdoor dining spots, picnicking in median strips and all the other various outdoor activities I'd normally associate with summer. The one thing folks've stopped doing is jumping into the water to cool off, which, given the pollution in the Bosporous, is probably a very good thing.
In the weeks since I got back from the States I've had several visitors, catsat at my home and the neighbors', collected a fairly impressive amount of Expat Treasure (the contents of my fridge at the moment is roughly: bacon, rum, vanilla beans, caviar, more bacon [different kind], duty-free wines -- and the peanut butter, chocolate chips and wild rice are hanging out in my cupboards) and figured out where the Brits of Istanbul have their pub quiz nights (my newly adopted team won, in part because I knew that the lady who went over Niagara Falls in a barrel with her dog dies of suffocation when her dog pressed its nose against the airhole so tightly it blocked the airflow to the rest of the barrel. Important things like this, that's what my brain's full of...).
My landlord visited for a few days, which was good as it was a chance for him to see what I'd done with the place so far and an opportunity to get some work done around the place, as he was home during the day and could supervise contractors. I came home to new hallway lighting and no more wires protruding from various walls. The cat was pretty upset about that latter improvement.
Somewhat more exciting was my other visitor this month: my friend flew in from Switzerland to run in the Istanbul Marathon, which starts in Asia, goes across the Bosporus Bridge, along the Bosporus, up the Golden Horn, and ends at the Hippodrome, directly behind the Blue Mosque. A pretty interesting course, for sure; also the one day a year the bridge is open to pedestrian traffic. We toured the main sites on Saturday, hitting up the Blue Mosque, Aya Sofya, Grand Bazaar, Spice Bazaar, Eyup Camii and the Besiktas DVD markets as well as the marathon expo before heading to my Favorite Restaurant in Istanbul for manti. As I don't, as a habit, run, the marathon expo was entirely new to me -- marathoners get some pretty decent swag. The booths were a strange combination of more athletic gear than I have ever seen in Turkey before and random other products, like the Gumussuyu traditional goods association. They had walnuts in molasses, it was kind of but not actually similar to fruit leather, but thicker.
On Sunday, we headed up to Sultanahmet under intermittent rain to catch a marathon bus to the starting line. Having only seen the Boston Marathon before this, the Istanbul marathoners looked a little less...overtly athletic, I guess, in general. Once we got to the starting line, people were milling about as some guy with a bullhorn and a speaker system yelled really excitedly about the Culture Minister, who apparently was there observing the start. I actually started with the marathon runners, just to run across the bridge, and ran about 5 kilometers before grabbing a cab to the finish line to meet up with Kevin. He "just" ran the 15k, so we were able to see the marathon winners run in, complete with motorcycle escort, which was pretty cool.
After the marathon, we ended up walking along the marathon route by the Maramara Sea, which is ordinarily a four-lane roadway but was closed to traffic til mid-afternoon so much calmer. We ended up at Topkapi, which was overwhelming as always but also gorgeous as always, before taking a ferry up the Golden Horn to the Koc Museum, where we speed-walked through before heading over to Istiklal. I don't know how many kilometers we walked, but it was a pretty darn respectable amount.
I really do enjoy exploring this city with newcomers to the country -- I think the experience of seeing Istanbul with a fresh perspective reminds me of just why this city is such an awesome place to live and be in. Plus, I'm a tour guide at heart, and any chance I can get to natter on about the Topkapi palace social hierarchy is something I leap on.
This week has been, it seems, mainly catching up and planning ahead, as I've got another visitor, an old friend in town, my long-term catsittee is leaving, and potentially a quick weekend hop out of the country or two in the next six weeks. In between preparing and planning for all that, I found time to make it to an expat meetup, where I caught up with a few acquaintances and met some new folks in town. It's really fascinating how many expats are in this city, and for how many reasons. I don't know if this Istanbul life is glamorous, but it certainly keeps me on my toes.
And with that, I'm off for now,
-R
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Sometimes when I'm traveling through or reading about Western Europe, I start to think about how nice it would be to live there for a while, or at the very least to explore it more. Today began as one of those days: I got in to Helsinki this morning, and though I was too exhausted to head to the city just to head back 4-6 hours later and figure out customs and security again, the airport itself seemed nice and the people in general seemed ridiculously attractive and pretty darn nice to boot. Then my battery ran low and my metaphorical battery started flagging -- there's like 1 outlet in the international terminal, and one cafe, where a small cup of black coffee and a muffin with hot-pink icing dribbled haphazardly across the top set me back $8. Eight dollars is like 12 lira, and I don't think I'd ever pay that much even for a medium latte and absurdly large-topped muffin at Starbucks. I figured that maybe I'd splurge and buy a day pass to the FinnAir lounge, and enjoy light refreshments in between naps in their sleeping pods, but unlike perhaps every American airline with a lounge, FinnAir doesn't offer day passes. Maybe it's a European thing.
In actual plane experience, though, FinnAir has been pretty darn awesome, especially when compared with my Delta flight over the same ocean last week. Between the actually nice blanket, the gigantic selection of newspapers when boarding, the better wine with dinner (and the quite good dinner, although Turkish Airways does better) and the comfier chairs, I was a pretty happy camper before the lights were even dimmed.
Also a huge plus, and one that I've not failed to complain about on every US-carrier transAtlantic flight I've taken (I suppose I'm a little spoiled), was the in-seat entertainment system. Lufthansa and Air France had more than decent seatback entertainment options in my experience, but FinnAir took it to the next level -- they had over 50 movies, at least 15 television shows and games and other media options galore, and all of them were set up to start whenever you wanted. My other European carriers have had a selection of movies, but the played on a loop, so once you finished the first, you'd switch over to the second movie of your choice and it'd be like a third of the way through, with no way to back it up.
Sealing my support of FinnAir (note to FinnAir: get a domestic partner to the Midwest and I will fly you all the time. Probably. Four legs is just a tad long, you know) was the fact that they had electrical outlets in every seat leg so you could charge your laptop in-flight. Delta's in flight magazine had promised such a thing, but closer inspection revealed no outlets, and the flight attendant said either they were just in one row in Economy or only in their planes to like Singapore. All very well if you're flying to Singapore, but I am not.
Unfortunately my seat was in the very last row of the plane, by the engines, so I hardly slept but aside from that everything was just brilliant. Kudos to FinnAir, even if their home airport could use a little razzledazzle. Get a decent homemade sandwich shop and some of those nice leather armchairs with outlets in the armrests in here and Helsinki'd be my layover of choice, rather than Midway.
Perhaps an airline comparison guide is in my future; I was totalling up the airlines I've travelled with in the last year and change, and it's a formidable number, from tiny little subsidiaries-of-budget-carriers in Turkey to a scattered handful of European national airlines to a grab bag of American outfits. So far Turkish Airlines is my favorite, not out of any nationalist pride but because they manage to serve a full hot lunch and beverage service on the 45-minute flight from Ankara to Istanbul. They should market that hop as a flying restaurant, really. In comparison, on my two flights between Chicago and Minneapolis last week, also about 45 minutes or so, we got a begrudging beverage service and had the opportunity to buy some peanuts if we wanted. The Chicago-Minneapolis pilot told better jokes, though. I'm not sure how that scoring rubric should look.
On that note, I'm off to wander the halls of the international terminal once more,
kib,
-R
In actual plane experience, though, FinnAir has been pretty darn awesome, especially when compared with my Delta flight over the same ocean last week. Between the actually nice blanket, the gigantic selection of newspapers when boarding, the better wine with dinner (and the quite good dinner, although Turkish Airways does better) and the comfier chairs, I was a pretty happy camper before the lights were even dimmed.
Also a huge plus, and one that I've not failed to complain about on every US-carrier transAtlantic flight I've taken (I suppose I'm a little spoiled), was the in-seat entertainment system. Lufthansa and Air France had more than decent seatback entertainment options in my experience, but FinnAir took it to the next level -- they had over 50 movies, at least 15 television shows and games and other media options galore, and all of them were set up to start whenever you wanted. My other European carriers have had a selection of movies, but the played on a loop, so once you finished the first, you'd switch over to the second movie of your choice and it'd be like a third of the way through, with no way to back it up.
Sealing my support of FinnAir (note to FinnAir: get a domestic partner to the Midwest and I will fly you all the time. Probably. Four legs is just a tad long, you know) was the fact that they had electrical outlets in every seat leg so you could charge your laptop in-flight. Delta's in flight magazine had promised such a thing, but closer inspection revealed no outlets, and the flight attendant said either they were just in one row in Economy or only in their planes to like Singapore. All very well if you're flying to Singapore, but I am not.
Unfortunately my seat was in the very last row of the plane, by the engines, so I hardly slept but aside from that everything was just brilliant. Kudos to FinnAir, even if their home airport could use a little razzledazzle. Get a decent homemade sandwich shop and some of those nice leather armchairs with outlets in the armrests in here and Helsinki'd be my layover of choice, rather than Midway.
Perhaps an airline comparison guide is in my future; I was totalling up the airlines I've travelled with in the last year and change, and it's a formidable number, from tiny little subsidiaries-of-budget-carriers in Turkey to a scattered handful of European national airlines to a grab bag of American outfits. So far Turkish Airlines is my favorite, not out of any nationalist pride but because they manage to serve a full hot lunch and beverage service on the 45-minute flight from Ankara to Istanbul. They should market that hop as a flying restaurant, really. In comparison, on my two flights between Chicago and Minneapolis last week, also about 45 minutes or so, we got a begrudging beverage service and had the opportunity to buy some peanuts if we wanted. The Chicago-Minneapolis pilot told better jokes, though. I'm not sure how that scoring rubric should look.
On that note, I'm off to wander the halls of the international terminal once more,
kib,
-R
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Ramazan days
The month of Ramazan started last Friday here. While I lived through Ramazan in Turkey last year, it was really not any sort of an issue, as I lived in a diplomatic section of Ankara, and socialized with expats and fairly westernized folks. Neighborhood restaurants were full all day long. I never even heard the early-morning drums, which are sounded to wake people up before dawn to eat before sunrise.
This year, oh boy is Ramazan a part of my life. About 5 people at work do not fast; that leaves at least one hundred people in the building not eating, drinking or smoking during daylight hours. As a Catholic, I look at our fasting and feel like a weakling: we get water, there's nothing about smoking for those so inclined, and we even get a light meal as part of our fasting requirements. And our fasting days are generally one at a time, spread out over the year. A solid month of not eating or drinking, even water, from sunup to sundown, while working, is rough.
As part of Ramazan at a religiously-inclined workplace, the company cafeteria has been shut down, as has the bakery on the ground floor. The coffee machines are out of coffee and will not be refilled until late September. The snack machine has 2 bags of pretzel rods left and also will not be refilled til almost October. The one thing that is still around, thank goodness, is the water cooler. Us non-fasting heathens have stockpiled tea and instant coffee mixes to get our workday coffee fixes, although I've tried to avoid drinking my blackberry tea, because the smell wafts across the news floor, and that seems pretty insensitive especially towards the end of the day.
The nice part about Ramazan at work though is that the company gave the nonfasters gift cards to spend on lunch at local restaurants. Unfortunately, so far they only work at McDonald's and Sbarro. On the bright side, Sbarro has caesar salad, which is excellent. On Fridays, when we work late, the cafeteria opens to serve iftar, or the fast-breaking meal, which is a big production. Community iftars are pretty fun, especially as the countdown to sundown begins: there's a tide of noise as everyone gets excited to finally eat, which gives way to absolute silence, save the occasional clink of silverware.
One cultural crossover I learned about today is the Ramazan gift exchange. One of our page editors is organizing this, at work; it's exactly like Secret Santa, except the exchange occurs at the end of Ramazan. It's fitting, because Seker Bayram, the holiday at the end of Ramazan that literally means "sugar holiday," is somewhat Christmas-like.
In my neighborhood here, as well, most people observe the fast. The restaurants are nearly empty, and even the touristy fish restaurants are hurting for customers until about 8p.m., when everyone can eat again. My bread guy has a small stand in front of his shop piled high with Ramazan bread, which is apparently special and made only for Ramazan. It's delicious, so I wish they'd make it year-round, but alas. It's round, and slightly puffier than their normal pide bread.
Another new experience for me has been the Ramazan drums. On Sunday morning I heard them for the first time ever. Good Lord are they loud. I'm fairly certain there was a two-party drum-off below my window Sunday morning; it went on for over ten minutes, which I'm sure many would agree is not at all what you want to hear when it is 4a.m. and you don't need to get up and eat because you can indeed eat all day, heathen that you are. Also, it woke the cat up, who then decided that 5:30a.m. was most definitely time for me to get up.
Aside from the drums (which actually can be somewhat pleasant, part of the charm of living in my part of Istanbul) and the lack of coffee and breakfast at work, I've really enjoyed Ramazan this year, as I've actually been able to see and live with people who are really fasting, and who embrace the spirit of Ramazan. I'm really impressed by everyone I know who is able to work all day without caffeine or even water (I think the water part is particularly impressive); going all day without imbibing anything would be not bad at all if one did absolutely nothing all day, but to get up, travel to work, concentrate on frustrating wording issues all day (current challenge: trying to catch every time writers refer to the government's Kurdish initiative as the "final solution to the Kurdish problem" -- because that's just not good) and then travel home, all without water or anything to nosh on, that's just really darn impressive. And they do it every day for a month.
I've heard that tempers get short towards the end of Ramazan, which is understandable. Luckily, I've just happened to plan my trip back to the States to coincide with the last week of the fasting month. So while everyone here is counting down the days til they can eat normally again, I'll be doubly haraam, with my not-fasting and my seeking-out-of-pork-products planned for my visit to the States. It's going to be good.
-R
This year, oh boy is Ramazan a part of my life. About 5 people at work do not fast; that leaves at least one hundred people in the building not eating, drinking or smoking during daylight hours. As a Catholic, I look at our fasting and feel like a weakling: we get water, there's nothing about smoking for those so inclined, and we even get a light meal as part of our fasting requirements. And our fasting days are generally one at a time, spread out over the year. A solid month of not eating or drinking, even water, from sunup to sundown, while working, is rough.
As part of Ramazan at a religiously-inclined workplace, the company cafeteria has been shut down, as has the bakery on the ground floor. The coffee machines are out of coffee and will not be refilled until late September. The snack machine has 2 bags of pretzel rods left and also will not be refilled til almost October. The one thing that is still around, thank goodness, is the water cooler. Us non-fasting heathens have stockpiled tea and instant coffee mixes to get our workday coffee fixes, although I've tried to avoid drinking my blackberry tea, because the smell wafts across the news floor, and that seems pretty insensitive especially towards the end of the day.
The nice part about Ramazan at work though is that the company gave the nonfasters gift cards to spend on lunch at local restaurants. Unfortunately, so far they only work at McDonald's and Sbarro. On the bright side, Sbarro has caesar salad, which is excellent. On Fridays, when we work late, the cafeteria opens to serve iftar, or the fast-breaking meal, which is a big production. Community iftars are pretty fun, especially as the countdown to sundown begins: there's a tide of noise as everyone gets excited to finally eat, which gives way to absolute silence, save the occasional clink of silverware.
One cultural crossover I learned about today is the Ramazan gift exchange. One of our page editors is organizing this, at work; it's exactly like Secret Santa, except the exchange occurs at the end of Ramazan. It's fitting, because Seker Bayram, the holiday at the end of Ramazan that literally means "sugar holiday," is somewhat Christmas-like.
In my neighborhood here, as well, most people observe the fast. The restaurants are nearly empty, and even the touristy fish restaurants are hurting for customers until about 8p.m., when everyone can eat again. My bread guy has a small stand in front of his shop piled high with Ramazan bread, which is apparently special and made only for Ramazan. It's delicious, so I wish they'd make it year-round, but alas. It's round, and slightly puffier than their normal pide bread.
Another new experience for me has been the Ramazan drums. On Sunday morning I heard them for the first time ever. Good Lord are they loud. I'm fairly certain there was a two-party drum-off below my window Sunday morning; it went on for over ten minutes, which I'm sure many would agree is not at all what you want to hear when it is 4a.m. and you don't need to get up and eat because you can indeed eat all day, heathen that you are. Also, it woke the cat up, who then decided that 5:30a.m. was most definitely time for me to get up.
Aside from the drums (which actually can be somewhat pleasant, part of the charm of living in my part of Istanbul) and the lack of coffee and breakfast at work, I've really enjoyed Ramazan this year, as I've actually been able to see and live with people who are really fasting, and who embrace the spirit of Ramazan. I'm really impressed by everyone I know who is able to work all day without caffeine or even water (I think the water part is particularly impressive); going all day without imbibing anything would be not bad at all if one did absolutely nothing all day, but to get up, travel to work, concentrate on frustrating wording issues all day (current challenge: trying to catch every time writers refer to the government's Kurdish initiative as the "final solution to the Kurdish problem" -- because that's just not good) and then travel home, all without water or anything to nosh on, that's just really darn impressive. And they do it every day for a month.
I've heard that tempers get short towards the end of Ramazan, which is understandable. Luckily, I've just happened to plan my trip back to the States to coincide with the last week of the fasting month. So while everyone here is counting down the days til they can eat normally again, I'll be doubly haraam, with my not-fasting and my seeking-out-of-pork-products planned for my visit to the States. It's going to be good.
-R
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Summer in the city
Note: I most definitely wrote and tried to post this about a week ago, but apparently it didn't post, so I'm posting it now for your reading pleasure
Summer's just been flying by, punctuated by an annoying and ongoing lack of home internet (hence the intermittent blog posts). Many expats seem to leave or come to a country in the summer, so the past several weeks have been overfull of meeting new people and saying goodbye to older friends. I did take the time to join the Professional American Women of Istanbul, and although I've not been to a meeting yet I've heard they organize some pretty good things.
I also met a set of new neighbors, also Americans, and am currently catsitting for them. I think we're probably the only 3 Western yabancis in the area. They're quite nice, one does legal consulting and the other aid consulting and they've lived all across Central Asia, so of course I've been picking their brains about life in the wider Turkic world.
Earlier this week, I headed to an expat meetup, where everyone was concerned when they found out I didn't have a Turkish boyfriend. Everyone was quite fun though, and, like most expats in this city, had fascinating back stories.
This weekend I had Sunday off, and a friend and I had a pretty full weekend planned, til she emailed Friday night: her cat had fallen out the window of her 4-story flat. After a brief panic, we found out that everything was fine and the whole neighborhood seems to have seen the whole thing: the cat fell, spread her 4 legs, puffed out her belly "like a parachute," landed, and scampered over to the astounded bakkal. We scaled back our plans to spend a bit more time with the "ucan kedi," as the neighborhood now calls Baykus ("The flying cat"), but still ended up having margaritas and Mexican food at one of the maybe 2 Mexican restaurants in the city, taking the midnight ferry up to the edge of the Black Sea (it's round trip, and there are fish restaurants at the top, but when we got there the captain said they'd be leaving again in 30 minutes! So we wolfed down our calamari and took a quick sprint through town).
This morning, we got up pretty darn early and took the bus up to Emirgan, which is pretty was up the Bosporus but still part of Istanbul. There's a fantastic regional park there, and we did some running and training (or, Cat did a lot of running, and I did some running and some walking). I'm trying to get ready for the Istanbul Marathon's 15k run, in mid-October, which will be a bit of an adventure as I don't know that I've ever run more than 4 miles at once before.
After some catching up and grad school research (now on my watch list: Oxford?), I'm on my way back home to the cats and the houseguest, with scrathing post in hand (it's been an issue). I think I'm getting kicked out of this manti place, so I'll inshallah update sooner rather than later
-R
Summer's just been flying by, punctuated by an annoying and ongoing lack of home internet (hence the intermittent blog posts). Many expats seem to leave or come to a country in the summer, so the past several weeks have been overfull of meeting new people and saying goodbye to older friends. I did take the time to join the Professional American Women of Istanbul, and although I've not been to a meeting yet I've heard they organize some pretty good things.
I also met a set of new neighbors, also Americans, and am currently catsitting for them. I think we're probably the only 3 Western yabancis in the area. They're quite nice, one does legal consulting and the other aid consulting and they've lived all across Central Asia, so of course I've been picking their brains about life in the wider Turkic world.
Earlier this week, I headed to an expat meetup, where everyone was concerned when they found out I didn't have a Turkish boyfriend. Everyone was quite fun though, and, like most expats in this city, had fascinating back stories.
This weekend I had Sunday off, and a friend and I had a pretty full weekend planned, til she emailed Friday night: her cat had fallen out the window of her 4-story flat. After a brief panic, we found out that everything was fine and the whole neighborhood seems to have seen the whole thing: the cat fell, spread her 4 legs, puffed out her belly "like a parachute," landed, and scampered over to the astounded bakkal. We scaled back our plans to spend a bit more time with the "ucan kedi," as the neighborhood now calls Baykus ("The flying cat"), but still ended up having margaritas and Mexican food at one of the maybe 2 Mexican restaurants in the city, taking the midnight ferry up to the edge of the Black Sea (it's round trip, and there are fish restaurants at the top, but when we got there the captain said they'd be leaving again in 30 minutes! So we wolfed down our calamari and took a quick sprint through town).
This morning, we got up pretty darn early and took the bus up to Emirgan, which is pretty was up the Bosporus but still part of Istanbul. There's a fantastic regional park there, and we did some running and training (or, Cat did a lot of running, and I did some running and some walking). I'm trying to get ready for the Istanbul Marathon's 15k run, in mid-October, which will be a bit of an adventure as I don't know that I've ever run more than 4 miles at once before.
After some catching up and grad school research (now on my watch list: Oxford?), I'm on my way back home to the cats and the houseguest, with scrathing post in hand (it's been an issue). I think I'm getting kicked out of this manti place, so I'll inshallah update sooner rather than later
-R
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Thoughts on the neighborhood
After living in a fairly expat-rich neighborhood in Ankara, I was in for a bit of a shock when I moved to my current neighborhood in Istanbul. As far as I can tell, I am the only Western foreigner living here, and definitely the only single female twenty-something Western foreigner.
This is both a blessing and a curse. My first week here, I wandered into a pide shop to buy bread, and chatted with the owner a bit. The next day, as I walked down a different street, I heard a man turn to his friend to fill him in on me: “She’s American, she used to live in Ankara but now she lives here. She writes and she studied at ODTU.” My conversation with the pideci had spread around the neighborhood in under 24 hours, and almost everyone knew my basic background.
Not everyone remembers that I do live here though; there is a street nearby lined with restaurants catering primarily to tourists, and I walk down it almost every day. Even a month after moving, waiters and restaurant owners chorus behind me as I navigate between groups of German and Japanese tourists: “Excuse me lady! I have a question, do you want to eat? Our fish is the best!” I find the “I have a question” one a bit annoying, as I usually stop to hear what it is, hoping it’s not a request that I eat at their establishment, only to hear “Why aren’t you stopping here for dinner?” or “Do you want a drink? Fish?”
There is one fish restaurant whose staff has figured out that I’m a local. We exchange greetings as I take the corner in front of their tables, me in Turkish and them in English.
I’m not, however the only foreigner in the neighborhood -- not by a long shot. My neighborhood is home to a “migrant guesthouse -- Turkish doublespeak for an illegal immigrant detention center. The people who live there are allowed to stay there, and not much else: they cannot work, they would face problems leaving Istanbul, and I believe their movements within Istanbul, outside of the guesthouse, are restricted as well.
Most of these “guests” are of African origin: the call shops around my neighborhood prominently advertize their rates to Somalia, Congo, Libya and Ethiopia. It’s actually quite odd, I’ve seen more pagnes here than I have since leaving Niger; I keep meaning to ask if there’s a Turkish source for them.
I do wish that the government would allow the migrants to work legally, as I’d love to see some migrant-operated businesses in the area (especially restaurants -- Turkey has a dearth of ethnic food and I would absolutely love to find a place selling shinkafa da wake or fari masa, or serving up fresh cold glasses of byssop). I occasionally see a migrant or two working, clearly under the table, in one of the small tailoring factories that dot the neighborhood.
I do think I enjoy my current neighborhood more than I'd enjoy living in one of the "expat-heavy" areas -- Cihangir, for instance, although I do find myself walking around that neighborhood quite often. There's just something to be said for walking down the village-like streets of my neighborhood, where if everyone doesn't know my name, they do know who I am.
This is both a blessing and a curse. My first week here, I wandered into a pide shop to buy bread, and chatted with the owner a bit. The next day, as I walked down a different street, I heard a man turn to his friend to fill him in on me: “She’s American, she used to live in Ankara but now she lives here. She writes and she studied at ODTU.” My conversation with the pideci had spread around the neighborhood in under 24 hours, and almost everyone knew my basic background.
Not everyone remembers that I do live here though; there is a street nearby lined with restaurants catering primarily to tourists, and I walk down it almost every day. Even a month after moving, waiters and restaurant owners chorus behind me as I navigate between groups of German and Japanese tourists: “Excuse me lady! I have a question, do you want to eat? Our fish is the best!” I find the “I have a question” one a bit annoying, as I usually stop to hear what it is, hoping it’s not a request that I eat at their establishment, only to hear “Why aren’t you stopping here for dinner?” or “Do you want a drink? Fish?”
There is one fish restaurant whose staff has figured out that I’m a local. We exchange greetings as I take the corner in front of their tables, me in Turkish and them in English.
I’m not, however the only foreigner in the neighborhood -- not by a long shot. My neighborhood is home to a “migrant guesthouse -- Turkish doublespeak for an illegal immigrant detention center. The people who live there are allowed to stay there, and not much else: they cannot work, they would face problems leaving Istanbul, and I believe their movements within Istanbul, outside of the guesthouse, are restricted as well.
Most of these “guests” are of African origin: the call shops around my neighborhood prominently advertize their rates to Somalia, Congo, Libya and Ethiopia. It’s actually quite odd, I’ve seen more pagnes here than I have since leaving Niger; I keep meaning to ask if there’s a Turkish source for them.
I do wish that the government would allow the migrants to work legally, as I’d love to see some migrant-operated businesses in the area (especially restaurants -- Turkey has a dearth of ethnic food and I would absolutely love to find a place selling shinkafa da wake or fari masa, or serving up fresh cold glasses of byssop). I occasionally see a migrant or two working, clearly under the table, in one of the small tailoring factories that dot the neighborhood.
I do think I enjoy my current neighborhood more than I'd enjoy living in one of the "expat-heavy" areas -- Cihangir, for instance, although I do find myself walking around that neighborhood quite often. There's just something to be said for walking down the village-like streets of my neighborhood, where if everyone doesn't know my name, they do know who I am.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
And now for something a little different
Hey folks (I hope this works, I'm updating via email as this wifi doesn't seem to want to let me access Blogger),
I'm settling in nicely here in Istanbul, and inshallah will write some mildly amusing posts on that as soon as I get internet in my flat (should be any day now...). Til then, here's a piece I'm working on in response to an article I edited for my new job; the original article can be found here: http://www.todayszaman.com/tz-web/detaylar.do?load=detay&link=178707&bolum=100
This isn't my usual blog fare, but I figured I couldn't very well post just the article with no commentary, so here goes:
I was somewhat bemused to read the recent headline "Judge sentences man to give flowers to his wife for 5 months," a bemusement which quickly faded when I read on to the article: a man in Diyarbakir beat his wife, and was sentenced to buy her a bouquet of flowers a week for five months after he told the judge he didn't know her birthday or their anniversary and had never bought her flowers. He justified the abuse by complaining that his wife wasn't helping out around the house enough, noting that his recently-married second wife was much more easy-going.
I almost don't know where to start here; I guess first would be the point that domestic abuse is never justified, and the excuse that his first wife "didn't help around the house enough" is nothing short of pathetic. But the background here is truly sad, for all involved but especially for the women. While I can't know for certain this exact situation, I imagine it was something like this: the man and wife's marriage was arranged by relatives, in a match that was set up because of the desirability of the families involved, or the bride price, or because they were of marriageable age. They may have known each other, but almost certainly would not have married each other if left to their own devices. After awhile, enough time for them to have a child, the man found a girl he was attracted to and actually wanted to marry. He lucked out, as her family was amenable to allowing her to be a second, not-legally-recognized wife (they probably were able to negotiate a higher bride price because of this). Most likely he didn't see a need to inform his first wife of his plans to take a second wife until perhaps as late as his wedding morning. As part of his second wife's bride price, he probably bought a new house for her to live in, which led the first wife to press for a new house for her and her child as well (this was mentioned in the article, as part of the man's justification for beating his wife). The man had probably spent any savings he had and took loans to finance his second wife's bride price, making him irritable on the subject of money, an irritation only exacerbated by the fact that he now had the wife he wanted, making the first wife almost superfluous. When the abuse started, the wife probably didn't think of going to authorities; recent studies have shown as many as 40% of Turkish wives have been hit by their husbands (I highly recommend reading through posts on the Kamil Pasha blog, on the sidebar, for background on the status of women in Turkey). The fact that she did go to police, and that there was enough evidence to find the man guilty, points to the likelihood of severe abuse.
The judge's sentence here, while it initially appears whimsical, serves to trivialize the issue of spousal abuse by advancing the notion that "everything will be solved if this man proves he cares about his wife by buying her flowers." The fact that the wife brought this case to court means that she does not feel safe in her living arrangement, and the husband's clear annoyance with his wife and her perceived 'unhelpfulness' is, if anything, a warning sign: there have been all too many recent cases of uxoricide in the Southeast, in many cases after the woman has sought help or the court has interfered. In all likelihood, this is one marriage that would be best served by a divorce: giving this woman freedom from her abusive life with this man, and paving the way for this man's second wife to legally marry him, which would afford her certain legal protections she currently lacks as the religiously-recognized second wife.
It should also be noted that the judge ordered this particular sentence in lieu of jail time or other probationary options; other judges recently have assigned men convicted of similar crimes to plant and care for trees, or in one case to print 1000 fliers apologizing to the man's wife and his neighborhood for beating his wife and distribute them throughout town. While this still doesn't do anything tangible to address the very real abuse, it at least doesn't trivialize the woman's experience like this flower sentence, and I suppose the fliers may serve to make the neighbors more ready to watch out for the woman and recognize signs of abuse.
Domestic abuse is a huge and largely not-talked-about issue in Turkey. Change is needed, at the judicial level and at the political level but most importantly at the social level. We need to figure out how to get from 40% of Turkish housewives reporting instances of abuse to 100% of Turkish spouses knowing that spousal abuse is never justified. Unfortunately, changing laws and changing judicial practices, while difficult, can be and have been done, whereas changing society's views is a formidable task indeed. Still, we owe it to ourselves and our communities to do our small part, so that women don't think they have no choice but to stay with an abusive spouse and so that men don't even consider beating their wives an option.
kib
-R
I'm settling in nicely here in Istanbul, and inshallah will write some mildly amusing posts on that as soon as I get internet in my flat (should be any day now...). Til then, here's a piece I'm working on in response to an article I edited for my new job; the original article can be found here: http://www.todayszaman.com/tz-web/detaylar.do?load=detay&link=178707&bolum=100
This isn't my usual blog fare, but I figured I couldn't very well post just the article with no commentary, so here goes:
I was somewhat bemused to read the recent headline "Judge sentences man to give flowers to his wife for 5 months," a bemusement which quickly faded when I read on to the article: a man in Diyarbakir beat his wife, and was sentenced to buy her a bouquet of flowers a week for five months after he told the judge he didn't know her birthday or their anniversary and had never bought her flowers. He justified the abuse by complaining that his wife wasn't helping out around the house enough, noting that his recently-married second wife was much more easy-going.
I almost don't know where to start here; I guess first would be the point that domestic abuse is never justified, and the excuse that his first wife "didn't help around the house enough" is nothing short of pathetic. But the background here is truly sad, for all involved but especially for the women. While I can't know for certain this exact situation, I imagine it was something like this: the man and wife's marriage was arranged by relatives, in a match that was set up because of the desirability of the families involved, or the bride price, or because they were of marriageable age. They may have known each other, but almost certainly would not have married each other if left to their own devices. After awhile, enough time for them to have a child, the man found a girl he was attracted to and actually wanted to marry. He lucked out, as her family was amenable to allowing her to be a second, not-legally-recognized wife (they probably were able to negotiate a higher bride price because of this). Most likely he didn't see a need to inform his first wife of his plans to take a second wife until perhaps as late as his wedding morning. As part of his second wife's bride price, he probably bought a new house for her to live in, which led the first wife to press for a new house for her and her child as well (this was mentioned in the article, as part of the man's justification for beating his wife). The man had probably spent any savings he had and took loans to finance his second wife's bride price, making him irritable on the subject of money, an irritation only exacerbated by the fact that he now had the wife he wanted, making the first wife almost superfluous. When the abuse started, the wife probably didn't think of going to authorities; recent studies have shown as many as 40% of Turkish wives have been hit by their husbands (I highly recommend reading through posts on the Kamil Pasha blog, on the sidebar, for background on the status of women in Turkey). The fact that she did go to police, and that there was enough evidence to find the man guilty, points to the likelihood of severe abuse.
The judge's sentence here, while it initially appears whimsical, serves to trivialize the issue of spousal abuse by advancing the notion that "everything will be solved if this man proves he cares about his wife by buying her flowers." The fact that the wife brought this case to court means that she does not feel safe in her living arrangement, and the husband's clear annoyance with his wife and her perceived 'unhelpfulness' is, if anything, a warning sign: there have been all too many recent cases of uxoricide in the Southeast, in many cases after the woman has sought help or the court has interfered. In all likelihood, this is one marriage that would be best served by a divorce: giving this woman freedom from her abusive life with this man, and paving the way for this man's second wife to legally marry him, which would afford her certain legal protections she currently lacks as the religiously-recognized second wife.
It should also be noted that the judge ordered this particular sentence in lieu of jail time or other probationary options; other judges recently have assigned men convicted of similar crimes to plant and care for trees, or in one case to print 1000 fliers apologizing to the man's wife and his neighborhood for beating his wife and distribute them throughout town. While this still doesn't do anything tangible to address the very real abuse, it at least doesn't trivialize the woman's experience like this flower sentence, and I suppose the fliers may serve to make the neighbors more ready to watch out for the woman and recognize signs of abuse.
Domestic abuse is a huge and largely not-talked-about issue in Turkey. Change is needed, at the judicial level and at the political level but most importantly at the social level. We need to figure out how to get from 40% of Turkish housewives reporting instances of abuse to 100% of Turkish spouses knowing that spousal abuse is never justified. Unfortunately, changing laws and changing judicial practices, while difficult, can be and have been done, whereas changing society's views is a formidable task indeed. Still, we owe it to ourselves and our communities to do our small part, so that women don't think they have no choice but to stay with an abusive spouse and so that men don't even consider beating their wives an option.
kib
-R
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