Sun Village

(all photos from Raimund)

Someday visit Güneşköy, an hour out of Ankara in a valley called Balaban.
It is a small settlement, an organic farm and greenhouse, a future ecovillage, and a joyful place to be.

The founders wanted to work land that was dry, poor in nutrients, and not easy to cultivate. Their goal? "We will show this can be done without pesticides or herbicides, and with minimal water needed from the ground." Now there are many rich fields thriving, a greenhouse full of tomatoes, and construction for a Mandala circular-frame wooden meeting house. Every Sunday a community of workers gathers here (most living full-time in the city of Ankara) to give their sunburnt skin and sweat in creating a village they hope to live in perhaps next year.

It's marvellous to find a place where people are actively engaging with the land. On Sunday we used our hands for sewing together long strings of peppers, for cutting the stems of greenbeans, carrying water from the natural spring, filtering soil and testing its chemicals, nailing and drilling cross-beams, and plastering mud onto a straw wall.

The site is surrounded by dry and bare hills, though there are other small farms growing tobacco, melons, corn and other vegetables that add color to the landscape. I hesitate to say 'traditional' technology, but most farmers here use limited irrigation, and can't afford the prices of synthetic fertilizers. Though many wish they could be more 'modern' with advanced technology, the continuation of small-scale agriculture is one way to allow the land to survive and support generations into the future.















This was a community of university professors, locals from the villages nearby, turkish, european, and american students, a librarian, a few construction workers, a chef, and some children running around. Güneşköy (meaning Sun Village) has been on this land four years now, and I think it'll have a brilliant future.

~~~alice

The Alevi (from a small, humble perspective)

Here in Ankara I was invited to visit an Alevi cem evi, the social and spiritual gathering space for the Alevi religious community. It was a neighborhood on the east side, a sunny afternoon, and a wonderfully warm welcome. We (young foreign students) walked into a wide and low room filled round the edges with many people relaxing on pillows. The Dede stood to greet us, saying "Sit down here, I'll tell you our story." The history lesson, translated through our teacher, lasted perhaps an hour with questions; it was followed by dance and music, food and chai, and every aspect of it was part of their religious ceremony.

And that's what I find the most interesting... worship, for Alevis, is never contained within a book, or specific recitations, or a set of dogmatic principles, or even a single building. Prayer is through song and dance and community service and everyday language and the motion of stirring chai with a small spoon.

So what is Alevi....I'm lifting primarily from a wikipedia article, where the collective authors "they" have explained it better than I could:

<<<< Alevis (or Alevi-Bektashis) are a religious community in Turkey, making up approximately 20% of the population of the country. Alevism is a Shia Islamic belief, meaning that they are politically attached to the 4th Islamic Caliph, Imam Ali. This, however, is the extent of similarity between Alevism and Orthodox Shia beliefs. (Shia is a term used for any beliefs having its main structure relying on following the path of Imam Ali, no matter how different they are.)

Contrary to mainstream orthodox Islam---which has a tradition of authoritative religious scholarship---Alevism is a heterodox belief (meaning it is defined by its departure from accepted beliefs and standards). The strength of Alevism lies in shared local traditions and esoteric interpretations of Islamic belief and practice. Modern Alevi theology has been profoundly influenced by humanism and universalism. Thus, while many of the older generation view Alevism as a religious belief, many of the younger generation prefer to term it a philosophy, some even making connections with Marxism. Alevi communities are strong supporters of Kemalism due to its strong secularist ideology. >>>>

This post would be a rather feeble attempt at a "general summary," so I'll just touch on a few ideas that I believe are the most important.

1) Theological issues---As described to me, the Alevi beliefs seem more of a philosophical outlook than I've seen in most other faiths. After Allah, the common name for God is Haqq, the Arabic word for Ultimate Truth, or Reality. Through worship, becoming closer to Allah, one can be united with the Truth. In my opinion, the most beautiful concepts in Islam are taken to the center of Alevism; love for neighbors, equality between men and women, and transcending material desires are a few. Orthodoxy and intolerance are hardly visible...

2) Practices---The sema is a dance of men and women in a circle, feet stepping and arms raised to the music of a saz and other stringed instruments. Men and women pray alongside one another. The dominant patriarchy of Turkish culture still guides work and family relationships, but I've heard from many Alevi the view: "Change comes from within us... children learning our ways are the ones who will help society progress." The cem evi that we visited organizes educational seminars, community dinners, and art/music cultural gatherings.

3) Political and economic issues---The current Alevi support for a strictly secular state comes after experiencing centuries of oppression under the Ottomans and discrimination from the majority Sunni population of Turkey. Today, the Turkish state officially recognizes Sunni Islam and has refused to recognize Alevism. With all citizens paying taxes, this policy discriminates unapologetically. Alevis watch their money go to the education system, for example, which teaches Sunni history in schools and refuses to mention Alevism. The state pays for enormous building projects such as the Kocatepe Mosque in Ankara, and gives nothing to Alevi communities. The state appoints and pays the salaries of Sunni Imams, funding that will soon increase under the new AKP government. The Dede told us that many Alevi don't admit their faith for the likelihood that they may suffer lower wages and other discrimination at their workplace.

Some Alevi I've met are angry, and some are sad. The majority, however, have an aura of patience and kind acceptance. I'll return to the cem evi next week for Thursday evening prayers, as I want to feel that community spirit again.

~~~alice

Cedar wood

In a small town called Şirince, near Turkey's Aegean coast, I met an old woodcarver sitting in a pile of cedar shavings. Here, on a slightly ridiculous map, is our location....

I say ridiculous because this city, writ large and bold on the map, has a population of perhaps a few thousand, steep hills of paths and small houses, and goats running around the wine shop. And on one street was an old man in a two-sided woodshed. He introduced himself "Ziyah," saying he has lived in this town his whole life.

On a low table in front of him were large spoons, forks and bowls, cigarette holders, and the traditional short, rounded spoons for creating rhythm. "All my life I've carved," he said. "I learned from my grandfather." Ziyah put in my hands a pile of shavings, telling me to lift them to my nose and smell. Cedar scent, strong and immediately recognizable, came to me and I smiled. Ziyah continued, "Truth is, after so many years smelling wood (and after so many cigarettes) most kinds I can't smell anymore. Now only cedar and olive." Other varieties he identifies by sight and the feel in his hands as he carves.

He pulled out a small cloth bag and said "here, my most important art." They were four spoons with images clear in the bowl of the spoon, images revealed while carving through layers of alternating light and dark layers of wood.
One--A dark castle with either sea or rolling lan below
Two--A baby held in a woman's arms (this according to Ziyah Bey; I tried, but my eyes saw only dark swirls)
Three--Two distinct dark, curved horns rising from a pyramid shape. Identified as Satan.
Fourth and most beautiful--The profile and swirling scarf of the Virgin Mary (Hazreti Meryemana)... and on the other side a tall and dark figure, her son Jesus (İsa).
"These I will never sell. This last one I gave to my wife when we married long ago... now she's gone, so I carry it again."

Ziyah offered me tobacco from Adıyaman in Turkey's southeast, rolled in unbleached cigarette papers. "And here are the tea leaves, make us some tea," he added, pointing me to the small kerosene stove. "Yaban çay, (wild tea) is the best. Simply."

(these are my spoons, not the visionary miracle ones)

I left after perhaps an hour, talking with me a few large and wonderfully sanded spoons for serving and cooking. Also a set of rhythm spoons for a dancing friend, and a large pile of wood shavings just for the smell (these I've since scattered in my own room and others'). Ziyah added a final gift, this only an ornamental piece; a tiny teaspoon, glazed and engraved with the following words: "Ya olduğun gibi görün, ya göründüğün gibi ol." This is a quote of the Sufi poet and philosopher Rumi. Rumi was born in Persian and died in Konya in central Anatolia... his writings are read across Central Asia and the Middle East and he is claimed by many Turks as their spiritual ancestor.

I find it fascinating that this small Turkish town has such diversity in beliefs--every Turk I've met (here and across the country) has an official government identity card with "Muslim" written bold, no questions asked. At the same time, small churches appear often and Christianity has a role in the everyday lives of many people. Ziyah Bey handled his special spoons with respect as if his hands were worshipping a miracle. And just as important are the words of the mystic Sufi Rumi, preaching love, music, art, and dance in the name of God.

Here is the quote in English: "Either appear as you are, or be as you appear."
I think it can transcend perhaps anything.

~~~alice

The coercive political circumstances necessitating the relocation and transfer of Armenians: The decision approved and decreed by the Council of Ministers on May 31, 1915.

"It has been understood that some of the Armenians residing near the regions bordering the battle lines have been jeopardizing the manoeuvres of the Ottoman Army who is trying to defend the borders against the enemy forces by: slowing down the transfer of provisions and military equipment, willing to cooperate and act in unison with the enemy, joining the enemy forces, organizing armed assaults on the armed forces and the innocent people in the country, providing the enemy navy with supplies, showing the fortified areas to the enemy courageously. Therefore, the insurgent elements ought to be receded from the theatre of operations. Activities and measures to this end will be launched....

The decree, dated May 26, 1915, and numbered 270, suggests that this procedure, seeking solely the most basic benefits of the state, ought to be put into practice through method and regulations, has been taken in consideration at the Council of Ministers. In the discussions held it has been decided that the harmful activities against the measures taken to protect the well being of the state and its security, and against the regulations put in to practice with extreme devotion ought to be eliminated effectively; as the decisions, pertaining the issue, put into practice by your Ministry are found extremely appropriate and clear, it has been decided and approved that the following applications should be put in to practice by your Ministry...

The Armenians, who are to be receded from the villages and towns you have written shall be transferred to their allocated places in comfort, their well beings and possessions shall be secured during their voyage, and the expenses to be encountered in their thorough relocations in the allocated places shall be met by the immigrant funds they shall be given properties and land in proportion to their previous financial and economic means. The needy shall receive new houses built by the state, the farmers shall be given seeds, should there be a need, the artisans shall be provided with tools and implements. Their belongings and possessions they have left behind shall be returned to the owners or their equivalent values shall be paid in the same manner. The immigrants and tribes shall settle the evacuated villages, and the properties and lands, after determination of their real values, shall be distributed among them. The real estates belonging to the relocated people in the evacuated villages shall be recorded in accordance with their types, values, and amount, and shall be distributed among the immigrants. The vineyards and olive, mulberry, and orange orchards, and the shops, factories, inns and storehouses, that are outside the scope of interest and skills of the immigrants, belonging to the relocated shall be sold in auctions or they shall be rented and the total amount of the money to be gained from the sales shall be invested temporarily in accountable property offices only to be given to their rightful owners.

It has also been decided that all the expenses to be made in realizing these shall be met by the immigrants’ funds in accordance with the regulations drawn by your Ministry. The sub-commissions shall undertake the organization, inspection, and application of the regulations in the protection, administration, and the acceleration of the procedures pertaining to the settlement of the derelict property...

It has also been decided that the governors shall be responsible for the application of the regulations mentioned in the areas where commissions cannot be sent. The issue has been forwarded to the Ministry of Defense and to the Ministry of Finance. The decree for the application of the procedures by your Ministry has been issued."

This text is available at the Military Museum of Istanbul. Comments?

~~~alice

(and fires in Turkey?)

(Continued From Before)

Here in Turkey, development (with no qualifier such as "sustainable" or "social") by default means hotels and businesses, shopping centers and concrete. And with few exceptions, it's generally spoken of positively, often interchangeable with "future" and "progress."

The current Turkish government is committed to this version of development which means opening the economy. The AK party is actively seeking foreign investment in manufacturing industry and tourism by easing regulations and reducing bureaucratic barriers. As one friend from the city of Antalya told me, "This means Russian mafia money has been pouring into Turkey, and is now the biggest source of investment along Turkey's southern coast." İn Turkey's southeast, the government's desire for investment (both foreign and domestic) has made it much easier for businesses to get involved: "If you purchase this land, you won't have to pay this property tax; if you expand this business, we'll allow certain area violations," etc.

And the line between legal and illegal development becomes so shaded that I, for one, can't make a distinction.

The irony is this: In Turkey's current system, with the economic and political environment so friendly to developers, there is no need for a land speculator to work around the law. The fires in Greece may have been sparked by developers looking to get around land-conservation clauses that declare forrested land cannot be developed. Many environmental protection laws were created in Greece after pressure from the European Union. At this time, Turkey has few such policies, and an administration even less interested in enforcing them.

So is Turkey at risk from profit-seeking developers willing to commit arson to clear land? With so many incentives already encouraging development (the biggest among them, tourism, is increasing every day) it's comparatively easy for investors to work within the already "legal" channels. No need for fires, no need to bribe environment officials, and only a few very small voices worried about Turkey's forests. Developers hear "Come on in, the land's here and ready for you."

If you're curious about efforts to spark ecologically-friendly tourism in Turkey, see:
The World Wildlife Fund--Turkey
Karagöl region (Turkish Daily News)
and a great analysis of Turkish ecotourism's future in Today's Zaman

~~~alice

Fires in Greece

The wild forest fires that broke out in Greece two weekends ago are mostly under the control of fire-fighters and no longer spreading. Final damage? Human, economic, and ecological landscape... From neighboring Turkey I read the news, listened to conversations, and asked many questions. Primary among my concerns: how is our situation in this country similar to Greece, and how is it different?

The BBC reports that perhaps 65 people have died across the region in southeastern Greece. Greek newspapers have estimated €3 billion euro in financial costs---this is for immediate relief efforts, farmers' compensation, and local economies' recovery. And the land affected may be 270,000 hectares (more than a thousand square miles), including many olive-producing farms. The ecological perspective is confusing because many Mediterranean forests depend on frequent fires for their renewal and growth. In a typical cycle, strong roots systems will survive while fires remove dead matter and give young seeds the right conditions to sprout. Yet a fire can be devastating if the forest composition has changed. On Greece's mainland and islands, many forests have slowly lost diversity due to human influence in the form of tree plantations, animal grazing, agricultural needs, and demand for development. This means a forest may recover with painfully fewer species after a fire, now a likely possibility in Greece.
Truth is most of the damage will be unknown for a long time...

This article from the Economist magazine gives a valuable perspective on possible reasons for, and consequences of, the fires. It includes the legitimate theory that many of the fires were intentionally set by land-developers who may profit from an area cleared of trees. And here is the relevance for Turkey: if some of the fires were deliberate, what kind of economic environment is it that creates this incentive? And how can it be avoided?

The demand for more tourist destinations, real estate for the wealthy, and manufacturing industry leads to an intense business in land development. In Turkey and Greece it's a source of potentially huge profits.

(apologies for the abruptness, but this will continue shortly in another post)

~~~alice

"The Iron Way" (part II)

(Continued From Before)

The Istanbul-Ankara train leaves from Haydarpaşa Station, a beautiful old building on the Asian side of the Bosphorus. It was a gift from Kaiser Wilhelm II of Germany, one of his many gifts to the last Ottoman sultan trying to convince the empire to join Germany's side in WWI; the station is still very much in-use even after the empire's unhappy ending.

I walked out along the tracks before boarding, finding my compartment (#14b) with the help of an excited little boy (half his body hanging out the train window) calling out ticket numbers. From the window of cabin #14 three large grain sacks were hanging. Two bulging with rice, and the third perhaps with wheat grain. They belonged to the family inside---an old woman and man, and the same excited boy I now recognized as their grandchild. They greeted me when I stepped in, and introduced me to two university students also sharing the compartment. And inside this already crowded compartment three more sacks of grain were stored. I asked the grandmother, "Why are you bringing these to Ankara?" She cast a glance at her husband, lowered her eyes, and didn't answer me. I didn't try again...

I suppose I could attribute it to a language mistake (though by this time I'm fairly confident in my ability to ask simple questions); or perhaps her reluctance to talk with a foreigner, an uncovered young woman travelling alone. But I'd almost like to believe that this quiet Muslim family is part of Turkey's black market trade. I'd rather it were valuable antiquities than firearms or drugs hidden among the rice grains; however, burası Türkiye, herşey olabilir (this is Turkey, anything is possible). Including the innocent possibility that they own a dry-goods shop in Ankara...

Returning to Istanbul the next night (a different train) I was talking with the manager of the small cafe car. Now, one-way Istanbul to Ankara is between 7-10 hours depending on the train. The manager tells me that one of the AK party's promises was to build a train that would make the journey in 3 hours. "And they've already begun construction," he claims.

Why is this government investing in the rail system? I suppose there are a few reasons why it should... In Turkey today petrol (roughly converted) is about $US 7.75/gallon. This makes train travel much more affordable for the majority of people. The trains almost always arrive on time, and they are powered primarily by electricity (which can be cleanly generated). The efficiency factor is important here, because as TCDD is publicly funded and state-run, its efficiency is constantly being questioned.

Even though gas is so expensive, the number of cars on roads in Turkey is still rising exponentially. I've been told a few times that the leading cause of death in Turkey is by road accidents. Hearing individual stories and experiencing Turkish traffic is enough to convince me this could be true (and this World Bank report puts Turkey's accident rates at 3-6 times above the EU average). The government's plan to reduce this involves more safety trainings, further investment in the already-complex highway system across the country, and redesigning the rail system for successful commercialization. And what will follow? For the trains, more accountability, and fewer and better trained personnel. For passengers on Turkish trains, significantly higher prices.

I'll end this now, leaving the issues of smuggling, subsidies, and social standards open-ended and unconnected. The Turkish rail system is a fascinating central focus. Through the lenses of economics, cultural values, and environmentalism all issues can become bound together; at this moment, however, I'm sleepy and too tired for the clarity effort.

~~~alice

"The Iron Way" --- Trains in Turkey

Many people in Turkey still scorn train travel. The government-owned TCDD (Turkish State Railways) is seen as dirty, slow and inefficient, dangerous, and, worst of all, lower class. Out of all transportation in Turkey, the rail system currently makes up about 4%, down from the 37% it was responsible for in 1950. (read the World Bank report if you're interested...)

Economics aside for the moment, the persisting social stigmas are perhaps just as important. Three weeks earlier when buying tickets from Ankara to Istanbul, a friend and I were planning to take the cheapest ride available. A neighbor was fiercely against this, insisting: "Never go on Güney (South) Ekspres, it's only for winos, drunks, and drug dealers... And you know the weapon-smugglers from Iraq into Turkey? I'm sure that they travel by train."***

After another friend added a rumour about flaking lead paint on old trains, we were persuaded to take the 20 lira Fatih (Conqueror)--ultimately riding in a brightly lit, air conditioned car through the night. When I needed to return to Ankara, still very much on a budget, I decided for an adventure in choosing the cheapest train (9.50 lira): the infamous Güney Ekspres.

And here I found a train culture folks on the outside don't quite understand. Passengers travel in compartments of six official seats. I noticed some families had three or four children registered as one ticket, and they spilled out into the narrow corridor passing by. Other compartments were taken by groups of men who could possibly be smugglers, but I have no way of knowing. Individuals or passengers in pairs are stuck in wherever there are extra seats.

In Istanbul, the ticket agent was very reluctant to even sell me a ticket, asking, "Are you alone? You're travelling alone? You want the other train; Güney is only if you have friends..."
"I'm cheap," I replied. "I carry a knife and I'll be fine..."

(To Be Continued...)

~~~alice

***This was a reference to the recent headline news: Turkish police found American-produced guns in the hands of PKK fighters in southern Turkey. The guns somehow made their way from Iraqi police forces--were they were distributed during training by US troops--to the Kurdish separatist group PKK which was likely planning to use them against the Turkish military (or Turkish citizens). That PKK uses trains for smuggling inside Turkey is a fairly serious claim, one which may or may not have any grounding. Read it in the New York Times, the Turkish Daily News, or listen on NPR.

Grand Island -- Büyükada

Istanbul's Adalar are nine small islands near the opening of the Bosphorus into the Sea of Marmara. Just 20km from the city, for centuries they were destinations for wealthy royalty of Istanbul---royal visitors sometimes on holiday, and sometimes on political exile. The largest is called Büyükada, often translated as "majestic-", "grand-", or simply "big-island" depending on how poetic the author is feeling.

~A glimpse of the still-wild part of the island (all photographs taken by Samantha)

My day's aventure began when, separated from the rest of the group, I missed the ferry from Kabataş. Luckily the deniz otobüsü (sea bus) also runs to Büyükada, twice the ferry fee and four times faster. Inside the deniz otobüsü all passengers sit in rows of air-conditioned seats rather like an airplane. I was disappointed that people can't sit outside and feel wind during the ride (like on the ferry) and questioning a crew member "why?" My question may have appeared more as a complaint, for the worker answered by taking me through the seats, up a small ladder into the cockpit, and introducing me to the captain. I had many questions; the captain and crew, curious about my curiosity, were happy to chat. They sat me in one of the two "driver's seats," served me tea, and the ship began to move.

Alice: "Do you enjoy this job? Why do you want to work on a ship?"
Crewman #1: "Ahh, because we have a view...see the water and birds?" and he was right, looking out the wide curved front window I felt the wonderful openness.
Crewman #2: "Because I can have everyday habits and I know what will happen here."
Crewman #3: "Listen, I want to learn English, but I need someone to teach me. Do you have a boyfriend?"

Alice: "Sorry, I'm not available. I wonder, do you think there should be less traffic on the Bosphorus? Trade is important, but I worry about accidents and pollution."
Crewman #2 (to his partner): "If you really want a girlfriend, you should take one from the internet. Tourists come to Istanbul for mosques and shopping, not for Turkish sailors."
Crewman #3: "I do look on the internet...listen, tell me, why do all women lie?"

Alice: "Well...I mean, I suppose, maybe women who are on the internet lie more than most women. Myself, I try to be honest." My rather feeble answer...
Crewman #3: "That's good, ya? What time do you come back from the island? I'm off tonight at 6 o'clock."
Captain: "Ok that's enough, all you get back to work."

~From the island looking across the sea at Istanbul's vast concrete-ness

Ten minutes later I stepped onto the dock of Büyükada, filled with Turkish nautical words and no wiser about Bosphorus trade. The most beautiful thing I immediately felt on the island was the lack of traffic (urban traffic, that is). Here cars and engines are forbidden. The entire population (about 10,000 permanent and 35,000 during the summers) travels by foot, bicycle, and horse-drawn carriages. Apparently there is a school and a health clinic for regular residents, along with all the restaurants and cafes for summer guests.

It's a wonderful day- or weekend-trip for Istanbulites. Hundreds of bicycles are for rent; our Turkish professor took one for the day and among the group we shared turns riding it up and down the steets. The horse-drawn carriages, painted with flowers and sometimes gilted gold, are grandly called fayton. I suppose it comes from the French word phaeton, and the Greek myth of Phaethon who died while driving his father Helios' sun-carriage across the sky.

~Horse corral, ready for rent

We walked past many old houses and mansions, the oldest perhaps from 1900. Most were wooden and shingled, some anciently decayed and some in beautiful condition for residence. We slowly climbed in elevation past a national park for picnicking and swimming, past an organic fig farm, and many corrals full of dirty and weary-looking horses. On the highest elevation, up a very steep cobblestoned road, is an old monastery. It's called Aya Yorgi Rum Ortodoks Manastırı for the famous St. George of Greek Orthodox Christianity.

~Restored villas now serving as inns

Though Istanbul was the capital of the Islamic Ottoman Empire since 1453, most of the islands in the Sea of Marmara stayed predominantly Greek Orthodox. After WWI, however, and continuing through the 20th century, most of the islands' ethnic Greek people left Turkey for Greece. The islands now mix Turkish, Armenian, and Greek, Catholic, Muslim, and Jewish families (though I don't know how smoothly...)

This monastery's historical story begins with the Turkish phrase which I'm learning to appreciate more and more: " Mevcut rivayetlere göre..." ("According to the current rumours...") A church was originally built in the 4th century, funded entirely by pledges and gifts from the local people, in honour of St. George's martyrdom. Over the following centuries it was attacked a few times, destroyed at least twice, and its members persecuted by Islamic forces. In the 17th century a shepard on Büyükada saw St. George in his dream and heard the words, "follow the sound of your sheep's bells and you will find my icon." With his sheep he climbed the hill, and among dry pines he found the ruins of the destroyed church. The building was reconstructed on the exact same location, and this is the one still standing today.

~Mediterranean climate, typical trees of higher elevations

Men of the church are still tending a few different varieties of fruit trees, though the site is no longer serving as a monastery. Beyond the church's surrounding stone walls, the far side of the island is undeveloped. It is a far different (and perhaps more beautiful) view than looking back down on the harbour filled with its spreading and colorful activites. To the east and south, only a few small paths and a silent road are visible down the mountainside to the sea. This place is incredibly beautiful in parts... and I wonder what will happen in its future.

~Swimming families and private boats anchored in the cove

~~~alice

On the Asian side of the Bosphorus many small rivers flow from the mainland. Mooring posts line the banks, and docks are shared among small commercial ferries and private boats. I was in the Beykoz neighborhood, far to the north, and it was early evening. The river banks were more empty than usual as many boats were out fishing, forming a dense pattern in the center of the channel. Other boats were visiting families and friends along the coast, or bringing people around the point to the open air market.

Our Uzbek friend, still naturally open and friendly after seven years in Istanbul, approached one man with "Greetings in the name of Allah" to ask if we could rest for a few minutes on his boat. The man looked up from his repair work and smiled through his cigarette smoke. The answer? "Of course, please come sit down, here I have cushions...." We stepped from the pier and sat on the polished wooden deck of a gently rocking boat, looking out into the open Bosphorus.

This estuary, this specific river, has just been opened to the public for swimming this year, after a major clean-up attempt from the municipality. It involved regulations against pipes that for decades had been pouring household and industrial waste into the water. The major pipes were rerouted to underground storage tanks, and fines introduced for anyone caught dumping. Then the river bottom was dredged and new sand brought in. Officially the area is clean and safe now, but on this particular evening (still 90 degrees F) there was no one swimming. Perhaps the actual quality of water here matters very little, for even if it improves drastically people still only approach the water with a boat deck underneath, or two oars touching, or the length of a fishing rod between. Many people still have the mentality of considering the seas primarily as a travelling lane and a place that will conveniently disappear trash; this ingrained attitude can be far more important than any truths about the water.

For instance....a supremely urban Turkish college student here, shocked to hear that I had eaten fish, told me that the heavy metal content may have ruined any chance for healthy children in my future. On the reverse side, a Turkish grandmother, hearing my same story, said its a great sign for my future husband and children that I know how to cook and to prepare food like a traditional family-oriented girl.

My point is that neither has any idea of the actual dangers that may or may not exist in the Bosphorus. True, years of dense shipping traffic, unfiltered sewage dumping, and runoff pollution into the Black Sea (read this interview with a Georgian scientist) have resulted in bacterial problems (nitrates and phosphates) and poisonous metals in the Bosphorus channel.
Also true, thousands of people in the region depend on fish for their meals and their livelihood. Diversity of fish species has declined drastically over the past few decades, and every year Turkish fishermen (across the whole country) contribute less and less to the international fish trade. There are fishing cooperation agreements spanning the Black Sea and the Mediterranean, and the Istanbul municipality continues to launch awareness and pollution-free campaigns as minor solutions.

Policies change, and the water itself becomes both cleaner and more polluted over time; perhaps this constantly changing situation helps explain my observation: I feel that too often people's attitudes have no relation to actual events or the realities of their environment. Say the Bosphorus water is proven to contain E. coli (don't worry, it doesn't) --- a gazette may report it, some residents may read, perhaps a few tourists will refuse a fish restaurant. More of a reaction? Maybe nothing. Or say the installed filters work successfully and the levels of pollution continue dropping --- a local citizen's approach to the Bosphorus may not change at all.

I wonder, how important are revitalization and development schemes for a population whose perceptions (and behavior) seem to be completely independent of their immediate environment? People throw trash over the rail with the same breath they complain about catching fewer fish year after year.... and when reports come in that progress is made (an oil spill cleaned, debris removed, a treaty with Bulgaria signed) many people use that as an excuse to balance out their continued polluting behavior.

If not influenced by physical changes in their surroundings, is it historical traditions and childhood stories that guide people's actions? Of course biology says that a population survives only if it can adapt to a changing environment. The Turks claim one of the oldest civilations on earth, meaning they've adapted relatively successfully for a few millenia. Is this faith in historical heritage enough to sustain people when they ignore warning signs from their environment? I'm young and perhaps cynical, and I say that it's not enough.

But enough for now. I'll write next on a few views of Turkish historical heritage, with one from an eight-year-old named Damla (as in "drop of water...")

~~~alice

Seafish waters

In Istanbul so much of life is centered around the water. I arrived in the city in early morning after an all night train from Ankara and the first thing I felt was the difference in air, the comparative humidity. Moisture and saltiness rising from the sea and sticking to skin and hair.... though perhaps the difference is just in relation to the dryness of Ankara. Ankara is high on the Central Anatolian Plateau with dry dusted air, far from a river and approximately 3000 feet higher elevation than Istanbul. Left outside, bread and simit in Ankara merely become stale overnight; here they form an interesting combination of mold and dried sea air. And the presence of water here attracts birds of all varieties; Ankara is limited only to those which can survive on concrete and scattered sesame seeds.

Here the water is in all directions... from one hill I can see the Golden Horn in the north, the estuary that divides the European side of Istanbul in two. The Golden Horn flows into the Bosphorus to the east, the famous strait that divides Europe from Asia, which itself flows into the Sea of Marmara to the south. And at the same time aware of the Black Sea farther north and the Aegean in the south, this city becomes an island.

The closest bridge to me is the Galata, named for the 700-year-old tower on the hill just north of the Golden Horn. Beneath the bridge is a line of high priced restaurants and nargile cafes, where one pays for the view of fishing boats, cruises, trading barges, and ferries that pass by.
From early morning till night the top is lined with dedicated fishermen (and one lone woman) casting their lines a distance of two storeys to the water below.

Two friends and I wanted to join this group of ragged, smelly old-timers who spend every day watching the water. We bought a fishing pole and walked to the middle of the bridge one early morning; an old man watched us cluelessly trying to figure out the line and hooks, took pity, and showed us how it's done. Then with one graceful arch he cast the line, fastened our pole to the guard rail, and offered us hot tea while we waited. During the next hour our line never twitched; he, however, caught five small bluefish and one needlefish, each time letting us reel in his line and unhook the fish.

Our teacher, Orhan Bey, told us about the deniz annesi (sea mother), thousands of translucent jellyfish that flow silently by. "They won't burn your hands, but if they touch your eyes you'll go blind." He told us the best time of day to catch fish is before 7am, after 8pm, or any time when the wind is whipping up waves enough to bring the fish near the surface. And November is the best time of year, when fish migrate through the Bosphorus in crowds of millions.
"I catch my fish from this bridge, I sell my fish here, I drink my tea here, and I sleep here at night," he said. And it's true...he had a reclining padded chair and an endless box of makeshift fishing replacement parts. Just enough.

And when we had to leave for classes, he gave us a doubled plastic bag with his morning catch. "For your dinner, ya? Olive oil and onions, a fresh lemon, parsley and salt." That evening we fried our fish and ate outside in the fig tree garden. Three Istanbul cats joined us for the fish bones.

~~~alice

Next are wonderings about pollution in the Bosphorus... how bad is it? what is the government doing to clean it up? and should I really be eating this much fish?

A second introduction

So after two months we were together in Ankara, Anna has gone home. I'm staying in Turkey until January, two weeks here in İstanbul then returning to Ankara for the fall term at METU (Middle East Technical University). To continue small glimpses of Turkey I'll be posting to this blog. My own observations and questions, perhaps some Turkish graffiti, urban conversations and mediterranean flavours.
And through what lens? Anna has International Relations, inquisitative journalism, and joyful humour specialities.....I've got philosophy and environmental studies, as well as a deep fear of (or faith in?) cultural relativism.

I'll write soon about the water of Istanbul. It's in the air, in the seas, in fish sellers' fountains, in an infinite number of plastic bottles that--once emptied--are thrown to cobblestone streets. Here the balance between savings and waste is an irony that springs up every day, and for me it's most obviously witnessed with water.

~~~alice

Home, and Good-bye

Now, after two months in Turkey, I am back home in the United States. I'm listening to Turkish music now, and missing it all: the heat, the food, the constant feeling of being slightly lost and confused... Here no one speaks Turkish (of course), the neighbors are never by, everyone wastes water. But it is so easy to return to my old patterns and thoughts and chores, to let the past two months just fade away into distant memory...

I wonder what it would be like to move to a new country permanently, knowing that you had no home to go back to. I moved to the United States with my parents when I was five. For me it was easy, as it is for all kids. I am an American now, with fluent English and a U.S. education. But for my parents...

Some things you get used to quickly in Turkey: not making eye contact with men on the street (it's taken as a come-on), how to order Turkish coffee, where to stand on a metro train to avoid the jostling (near the end of the car), how to use the Turkish keyboard.

Some things take longer: understanding conversations and the news, not smiling too much in public (such a difficult thing for me! :)), kisses on cheeks, the Turkish bureaucracy, sometimes intrusive questioning (many things we consider off limits, such as salaries, weight and marital status, are never taboo in Turkey). Even after two months, I still felt there was a veil between me and the rest of the world -- I couldn't quite catch all the words, all the nuances, all the gestures.

And some things you might never get used to. You have to keep working at it, but it might never feel comfortable. There is the culture: the insane driving, the machoism of men, the love of Atatürk. And the language: the Turkish lifting of eyebrows at the end of a question, the intonation of a request, the slang.

My dad still has a strong accent in English, even after 15+ years. Most of my parents' friends are Russian. And I can understand why. Sometimes you just get too tired of constantly speaking a foreign tongue, of straining for greater understanding...

What if I had to move to Turkey permanently? How would I make that choice? I wonder how long would it take to learn the language with the facility of a writer (even a mediocre one), how long would it take to feel at home there... As much as I miss the country, I am glad I don't have to make that decision now.

*****
My Turkish summer is now over. Thank you for everyone who read these posts, who thought about them, who posted comments. I loved having you along on my trip!!

But please don't leave yet! One of my friends from the program, Alice D., will be staying in Ankara at least until December (and possibly longer), studying abroad at Middle East Technical University. She has graciously agreed to continue the blog with her own adventures and reflections. I may still post a few more thoughts and articles occassionally, but from now on "Turkish Kahve" will be largely hers. If you are still curious about Turkey, and if you enjoyed reading this, I hope you continue to 'tune in.' :)

But for now, I wish you all a big "güle güle"!!

Heading Home

In a few hours, I'm boarding a train to Munich (where we have a six hour layover. Yeah, German beer! :) ), and then D.C. ... I can't believe this trip is already over.

I'll write a couple more posts when I get back, but then it's good-bye!* (at least until my next trip to Turkey)

Talk to you in 48 hours or so, across the continent, in another world...



*One of my friends from the program is staying in Ankara to study at Middle East Technical University. Maybe she will take up the blog? I will keep you updated...

Trippin' on İstanbul

İstanbul for Turkey is like New York City for the United States -- but if Los Angeles, Chicago, San Francisco and Boston didn't exist. It is the most populous city, the center of culture and finance, the port connecting East and West.

Urban migrants to İstanbul used to say: "İstanbul'un taşı toprağı altın" -- İstanbul's soil and rocks are gold; if you go to İstanbul, you'll make it.

After only three days there --the river ferries, the ancient castles and mosques, the good wine, the spice bazaar and the amazing simit* -- I know that I have to go back. In Ankara, where there are much fewer English speakers, I always feel like a foreigner. But in İstanbul I could blend into the city, just stand by the shores of the Bosphorus and be...

Because my time there was so short, I don't feel qualified to give you a real tour. Instead I want to focus on just one moment...

One of the first places we went was the Hagia Sophia ("Holy Wisdom" in Greek), first built as a church by Constantius II in 360, then destroyed twice, remade into a mosque, and finally, in 1935, converted into an official museum of the Turkish Republic.

İstanbul has been the capital of the Roman, Byzantine, and Ottoman Empires, and for each, the Hagia Sophia was the crown jewel of the city. Conquering the building, making your mark there, meant claiming the entire city for yourself and your civilization.

Every first-time tourist in İstanbul makes a visit to the Hagia Sophia -- I met people from Morocco, Kazakhstan, Spain, Germany, Argentina. And every one of them sees the clash of religions and dynasties right there on the walls: Arabic decorations interlace with mosaic icons, the names of Allah hang above the faces of angels, Byzantine marble pillars tower over Ottoman minnarets...

Yet when I was there, just learning about the ancient architecture and history did nothing for me.**

It felt dead, unimportant, covered over with too much dust and fingerprints... I wanted to discover something still vital, still breathing.

It was only after pestering our guide that he revealed the current controversies swirling around the dome. Some Christian groups have filed petitions to convert Hagia Sophia into a church as a prerequisite for Turkey's E.U. accession. On the other side, some Islamic groups want it to be a mosque again, and many protested when the pope visited the site...

So even today, over 1500 years after its founding, the stones retain their power and symbolism...

I think there are in general two ways to travel. Most of the tourists who pass through the ancient churches and mosques go on vacation to get away from their jobs and their regular lives. They go to turn their brains off, to just look at pretty sites and relax.

But sometimes the best relaxation is exactly opposite -- what I love about traveling is the way it forces you to think along a different course, about new things in a foreign environment. That is what relaxes your brain, without dulling it.

*****

I have only two days left here, so just a few more posts... But now I have to go in search of a bathroom :) -- only a few places in the city currently have enough water reserves for toilet flushing. Unfortunately, my Turkish school is not one of them...

*The ubiquitous Turkish sesame bread, sold every morning by simitçiler all over every city. But İstanbul's is a class above the rest.

**Probably because I major in international relations, not in history. :)

So, about the water...

Now, what I should be writing about is İstanbul. Or the İslamic grocery stores here. Or at least about politics. But with three full days left in Ankara, all I can think about is how much I need a shower...

The water shortage has been in effect for a week now. The water was supposed to flow on an alternating cycle -- two days off, two days on -- with normal service returning in October.*

Instead, it turns on and off seemingly randomly. No one knows what is going on -- neither my teachers, my host family, my friends, nor, apparently, the mayor of Ankara. Mayor Melih Gökçek has been quoted as saying "if God wills it the disaster will end," while also blaming everything on global warming. He also urges citizens to leave the city and "go visit their parents." At least five staff members of the Greater Ankara Municipality have resigned since the shortage started...

This morning I woke up late to find that I had missed three hours of regular water flow. So I had another sponge bath...

Just last night, a water pipe burst outside the city. (The TV showed absurd images of people wading through a flood...) Now my host family claims we will not have regular water for at least five days. And at school, they said students can't use the bathroom for at least three days -- there are only enough reserves for the teachers' toilet flushing, apparently. I guess now is definitely a good time to be heading home...**

But -- I am not boarding an international flight after going shower-less for a week (at least out of respect for my fellow passengers).

So right after I finish this post, I am caving in, and going to a nearby bakkal to buy myself four or five liters.

And I am taking my goddamn shower. :)

*Most (though not all) houses have water reserves saved up, so there is (usually) enough water for toilets and handwashing.

**To put this all in perspective, my friend Joe told me about the water shortage in Yaounde, Cameroon, where he is currently working. Despite having frequent rainfall, the capital city did not have water for two days in late July because of corruption. I guess Ankara has not reached that level. Yet.

The Atatürk Shrine

A while ago, we went to the War of Independence Musum in the center of Ankara. I never wrote about it then, but I wanted to share with you some impressions.

This is the courtryard of the Atatürk mausoleum and the War of Independence Musuem.

What we saw:

Uniformed guards motionless in front of the doors, Buckingham Palace-like. They hold one hand on the gun, one hand on a knife. (My host father says the guns are without real bullets, just for show. To show what?)

Then, inside, a picture entitled "The Selfless Contributions Made By Turkish Women in the National Struggle." Haggard women carrying jewelry and rugs to an army truck, painted in the best over-emotional propaganda style, akin to Soviet social realism...

"The Day of Youth and Sport." Immediately reminds me of North Korea, Stalin's decrees, Hitler's Germany: the emphasis on strong bodies and obedient minds...

"The Massacres Perpetrated in Anatolia During the Invasion Years." Greeks killing Turkish soldiers in what the Greeks call "The Great Catastrophe" and Turks call "The War of Independence." Description: "During these massacres, the fact that clerics played a provoking role has been proven by historical evidence."*...

Battle scene panoramas on every wall... As I scribble notes, a soundtrack of gunfire, bombs, loading weapons, and an opera chorus of the Turkish independence theme plays on endless repeat...

Towering above it all is the form of Atatürk. He is climbing a steep slope, leaning forward, one foot ahead of the other, a cigarette in his hand. His face is grim, focused -- the face that appears on currency, on sides of buildings, in classrooms. His expression is one I have seen on icons depicting God: a stern father, willing to be kind, but also recording all transgressions and faults...

The same outline of Atatürk on a building in Diyarbakır

There are quotes from Atatürk written on the walls. For example: "Writing the history is as important as making it. If the writer does not comply with the maker, the truth can acquire aspects that will confuse humanity." 23 August 1931.

*****

When I leave, the whole effect is one of overwhelming kitsch, but also some revulsion. And fear.

Maybe my reaction is exxagerated, molded too strongly by horror stories from family and friends alive in Stalin's Russia. From endless accounts of Hitler, from too many over-dramatized, Hollywood-ized representations. Maybe it only seems so scary because it is foreign -- maybe we have similar (though less extreme) exhibits in the United States. Maybe all new nations need to inculcate patriotism to preserve themselves...

Maybe. But I can't help but think what kind of an effect this has in the minds of Turks, on children educated to have complete faith in the founder and his tenets, complete obedience to Atatürk's vision for Turkey's future...**

(Previously someone asked about Kemalism. There is a more in-depth Wikipedia article about it, but the basic idea is that everything Mustafa Kemal Atatürk wanted for Turkey -- from complete secularism to intense patriotism and a strong military -- should be preserved, treasured, and accepted. (Also see my post about currency).)

*****

I have to go prepare for my last week of class now, but I'd like to finish this post later this week with a look at what I've seen of Atatürk's legacy in modern Turkey...

*This is another jab at religion -- Atatürk blamed Islam for many of the faults, and eventual collapse, of the Ottoman Empire...

**An important point to acknowledge: as far as nationalism and cults of personality go, Atatürk was not the worst person to imitate, and really much better than most: his belief in republicanism, giving women a political voice, education, and modernization were exactly what Turkey needed to prevent it from becoming another Islamist dictatorship.
But what concerns me is the repercussions of his vision: the emphasis on paternalism and faith over critical analysis and independent action...

The Pide Episode

I may have been here for almost two months, but that doesn't mean I know what's going on. Here is a typical example of my Turkish cluelessness:

We got back from İstanbul via bus at 7am yesterday. So I crashed for a while, and woke up sweating around noon. Half an hour later there was a knock on the door. I was too out of it to worry about burglars or murderers, so I opened it. There was a uniformed guy there, holding a plastic bag of food and saying something. Unfortunately in moments of uncertainty, my Turkish flies out the window. All I could string together was "what?" and "who?"

He was nice though, and un-condescending, telling me sumtinsomething "Abla ordered it."* Maybe my host mother had decided to buy me lunch? Maybe this was a weekly dinner order I didn't know about? The origins of my lunch were shrouded in uncertainty. I knew only one thing: I now owed the guy 11.50 YTL (New Turkish Lira). I managed to scrounge together 9.50 (he didn't have change, of course). But he said it was fine and left.

(Two things that would never happen in the U.S.: 1. an order coming without a receipt. 2. a delivery guy accepting less money and no tip.)

Inside the bag were two cups of ayran (a type of salty yogurt drink all Turks guzzle in summer), some plastic-wrapped salad, and a whole tray of pides, the Turkish version of pizza (thinner, with less cheese and more toppings.)

By the time my host mother Funda got back and discovered it had been a mistake, two slices of yummy pide were in my stomach. Poor delivery guy. Out of all the streets and all the houses in Ankara, he had to choose the one with the hungriest and most confused foreigner...

Funda laughed for a while, but then we had some of the leftovers for dinner. Quite delicious. I do wonder who was left without her lunch, though...


*In Turkey everyone of similar age calls each other abla (sister) or abi (brother), with amca (uncle) or teyze (aunt) for older people. A Turkish Embassy representative said that Turks often feel closer to Americans than to Europeans because both cultures are more casual in social interactions.

Hindiler, falan filan...

Tonight we are taking a sleeper car to İstanbul (my favorite way to travel!).

Now I don't have time to write a longer post (especially because my host sister keeps on storming into the room every few minutes, wanting to play barbie games online), so here's another quick compilation of randomness:

--Saying no: Before I came here, my grandfather told me that Turks say no by shaking their head up and down (how we say yes), instead of from side to side. Not quite. But close. The informal way of saying "no" (hayır) here is to lift your chin up and click your tongue. I love doing it: quick, easy, and a definite refusal. It is especially amusing to see my seven-year-old host sister, Melis, respond to questions in the same way.

In general, much of the juiciness of Turkish is about gesture and facial expression, whether slapping palms or rolling eyes. Somehow, it makes every conversation feel more vital, more passionate.

--Tespih beads: Often on the subway I see people playing with a string of what looks like rosary beads, rolling them over their fingers and swinging them from side to side. I asked my teacher about it, and turns out they actually are like rosary beads. They're called tespih and are supposed to have either 33 or 99 beads, to symbolize the 99 names of God in Islam. However, for many of the people I spoke to the beads lack any religious meaning and are just a simple way to pass time, a habit and tactile fixation. It is always interesting to see the way religion finds its way into daily life here, while subtly morphing into something different...

(Another thing: my host family calls itself Muslim, but never goes to the mosque. But the daughter recites prayers from the Koran every night under her mother's guidance...)

--Conservation: In this area of the world, unlike in the United States, water and electricity are precious and expensive commodities. I am reminded of their scarcity here almost every day, whether from the toilets with two flush buttons (so you don't waste unneccessary water), to the computers in the computer lab getting turned off after every use (which is horrible for the computer, but probably does save some precious kilowatts...)

Just yesterday the electricity in the school kept going off every ten minutes because of so many air conditioners (it was another 100 degree day), and everyone took it for granted. And the government recently announced that, because of the drought and the inordinately high temperatures, water will be turned off completely every other day starting in August...

Conservation really happens when people feel the necessity and it becomes part of the culture, rather than just a campaign slogan...

--Deodorants and turkeys: In many places here, there are little room deodorizers hanging on the wall. Every couple minutes they release a puff of scent with a loud tuff (I originally thought it was a cat sneezing.) Maybe it's because everyone smokes inside, maybe because people take less showers... :) Dunno, but it was very strange at first.

Finally, although I still haven't seen any turkeys here :) (they are definitely only in zoos), I did learn that a turkey here is actually a hindi, which is similar to the word for India: Hindustan. I wonder what they're called in India?

And a preview of future posts:

--Going to the grocery store and other stories of "Green Capital"

--Visit to the shrine of Atatürk (long overdue)

--What the AK Party (the one that got an overwhelming majority recently) may mean for Turkey.

--My first trip to İstanbul!


p.s. I just realized that there are only two weeks left of my time here... Crazy. So if there's anything burning you wanted to know about Turkey and want me to find out and write about, let me know!

p.p.s. The title of this post means "Turkeys, etc." :)

Turkish Tea

I should have called this blog Turkish çay ("chai"). Because while Turkish coffee (türk kahvesi) is reserved for special occasions -- restaurants, guests, lazy Sunday mornings -- tea is as ubiquitous as water (and sometimes cheaper). While bargaining in a store or visiting the neighbors; in front of the TV; before, during, and after lunch: you drink tea. Moustached men gather in male-only tea houses all over the country to drink tea, play backgammon (tavla), and gossip... Friends relax in cafes over tea and baklava... Most grocery stores have at least half an aisle devoted solely to loose-leaf tea.

After the fall of the Ottoman Empire, coffee became an expensive import. Tea, however, was home-grown, dotting the slopes of the eastern Black Sea region. Now it has become the national drink, the standardized ritual (no matter the region or the weather), the prerequisite for any social gathering.

Turkish tea preparation comes in a series of measured steps:

First you put loose-leaf tea into the teapot (or a traditional samovar) and pour hot water over it.

Then you wait. After collecting extensive polling data from nearby Turks, :) I have concluded that the ideal brew time is about 15 minutes. This is exactly enough time for the tea to turn the color of tavşan kanı (literally: rabbit's blood) -- a deep brownish red.

You set out the cups on a wooden tray with a bowl of sugar cubes (you can ask for milk or lemon, but only foreigners do). Because Turkish tea is so strong, it is usually served in a small ince belli bardak (literally: tight waist; see picture). You can also get an ajda bardak* (a larger hour-glass shape) or a fincan çay (usually a regular glass cup).

Then you pour a bit of boiling water in each cup, and pour it out again. (My host father says it's so the glass cups can get used to the hot water... ? I guess it's just part of the ritual...)

Then add the steeped tea (about 1/4 to 1/3 full) and some hot water (to taste), place a small teaspoon on top. And serve.

Sitting in a cafe on a cool morning, balancing the scalding cup by the rim, hearing the soft ringing of metal spoons against glass cups... Pressing my finger against the glass, seeing my fingerprint magnified and luminous... Finally I take a sip and the day begins...



*This size of cup is actually named for the waist of Ajda Pekkan, the most commercially successful music artist in Turkey. She had her peak as a singer and actress in the 1970s and 80s but is still popular, releasing another Cool Kadın, her 20th CD, just last year. She's still on TV all the time and looks nothing like her 61 years (my host mother calls her "well-kept.")...

Can you imagine a new flavor of Coca-Cola being named after a Hollywood diva?

The House of Baklava (or an Interlude on Turkish Politics)

Yesterday the Turkish people cast their votes. In a few days, new representatives will be inaugurated into the Parliament -- the Türkiye Büyük Millet Meclisi (Turkey's Grand National Assembly). Of course, as always, I should have written more earlier, but let me catch you up a bit...

A few weeks ago, a friend and I went on a party propaganda photo shoot. We scoured the city for pictures of flags and posters. For the last few weeks, the city has been bedecked in lines of multicolored flags across every intersection and major avenue. Sometimes the territory was staked out by a single party, sometimes the flags competed for attention, trying to be the highest and the biggest.

Unlike in the United States, where much of campaigning happens on TV or in booths, here the whole capital city was a playground for political party canvassing. Besides flags, there were clever slogans at every bus stop, stickers plastered on the escalator, billboards, graffiti...

But the most visible campaigns happened live on the city streets. Every few hours, a convoy of buses and cars would drive by, blaring nationalistic songs and waving Turkish and party flags. At least twice a day, our Turkish class on the 6th floor of Atatürk Bulvarı would be interrupted by megaphoned slogans. The largest group I saw had about 4 buses and at least 20 cars (I counted), driving slowly across all three lanes of traffic...

Sometimes the bigger political parties -- the AK Party, the CHP, the MHP (more on these later) -- blared by. But often, it was the smaller parties, those parties not expected to garner a single seat in the new assembly.* They were just making noise, it seemed, just trying to get their voices heard (if not listened to)...


The day was hot. The kind of hot where holding my camera in the sun burned my fingers, where flies sweated, where the sun seemed lost in the shimmering glare of the sky... We wandered into a shady side street and suddenly came across Kocatepe Mosque, the biggest mosque in Ankara, its four white minnarets gleaming.

And on the same street, right across from the mosque, were the AK Party's headquarters. The AKP (the Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi, or Justice and Development Party) has been in Parliament since 2002. Its leader, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, is Turkey's current prime minister.

Yesterday, the AKP was the overwhelming leader, getting about 47% of the popular vote. Of the Parliament's 550 seats, its representatives will now hold at least 340.

We walked past the headquarters, the party's flags cascading from top to bottom. The next buiding was a small cafe we first called "House of Baklava." Perfect, I thought. Eating my favorite Turkish dessert near a beautiful mosque, and next to the ruling party's headquarters. A little corner of Turkey's essence.

But then it got better, but also less simple... Turns out the cafe was called "Hoş Sofra," or "Pleasant Table." (We'd mistaken part of the menu for the name.) And when I first asked for baklava, the restaurant's single employee brought me burekas instead...

Then he took away our napkins. And then the salt and pepper. For the restaurant's four outside tables, there was exactly one napkin holder. One salt and pepper holder. One ashtray, one toothpick tray, one sugar bowl. One worker. He bustled from table to table, moving items from one customer to another.

But somehow, in typical Turkish fashion, it all worked out. The lady who smoked got her ashtray, we got our napkins back when we needed them (the cafe's owner finally understood my Turkish and brought me the baklava, and a cup of free tea besides).
The owner even had time to slip us a couple of business cards. "Do come again," he smiled from beneath his thick moustache.

And then the processions started. As we sipped our free tea and nibbled on baklava, first the Turkish Communist Party (TKP) drove by, horns blaring, then the CHP in a smaller van, then a few other parties. All did their best to make the most noise in front of the AKP headquarters.

It didn't get violent, and it didn't get nasty. The party vans just drove by, and some of the AKP guys came outside to stare, but that's about it.

And at that moment I had so much hope for Turkey, and so much love for it. It wasn't always running smoothly, (and the baklava was a bit stale :) ), but somehow it worked. Needs were satisfied (despite a slight delay), opposing voices were heard, religion was visible but not overbearing...

Of course, it was just a feeling, a somewhat naive conception strongly colored by heat and sugar... But I can still hope...

This morning as I walked to class, the flags were gone. I saw just one red scrap still curled against a tree trunk. No more blaring horns, no more noise.

And what about those other 48 parties? How will they get their voices heard now? Is Turkey the kind of country in which consensus can be built, in which even after elections, the majority listens to the needs of the minority?

I guess we'll see over the coming weeks...

*Turkey has 51 officially registered parties, of which 13 participated in yesterday's elections (along with independent, unaffiliated representatives). Only those who receive at least 10% of the vote (in each election block) get seats in the National Assembly. Only three parties (AKP, CHP, and MHP), along with independent representatives, will be part of the new government...

Turkish Food

Of course, the best thing would be just to eat it yourself. But failing that, here are some pictures to keep you drooling:

My Fake Turkish Wedding

For our final night on the trip to the southeast of Turkey, we went to a "Sira Gecesi" in Şanlıurfa -- a night of traditional Turkish music and food.

Through a stone doorway, we entered a small courtyard strewn with carpets and pillows. We sat around low tables while more and more dishes kept appearing -- bread, salad, shish kebab -- while a band of six played on traditional Turkish instruments.

The whole evening was organized for us (for the trip we were "hosted" by the local government. I.e. they chose where we ate and what we saw). Other customers to the restaurant sat on higher levels and looked down.

Eventually the dancing started. Then the raw meat preparation: a restaurant worker began kneading some spice-smelling substance in a round metal pan. At first we couldn't figure out what it was -- dessert? Sand? He kept on rolling it across the pan's rough surface, then packing it together and starting over. The night was hot, and his sweat mingled with the ground meat, the spices, the mixed-in cilantro... Our guide Omer and the head waiter took turns wiping his forehead with a wet cloth.

Finally, when it was done (I guess soft enough?) he lifted the pan high above his head and started dancing with it, along the tables, the fountain, the stairs, while the music played faster and faster... Whirling and twirling, he stopped in front of us in his knees, the pan turned upside down, but the meat packed so tightly that not a piece budged.

Of course I had to try it (though with lots of tomatoes and pita, and only a small section of the rawness.) A bit spicy, but otherwise just like a regular meat patty. The spices partially cook it, I guess...

Then all of a sudden they are choosing people for something. I have no idea what was going on, but somehow I am volunteered by Omer...

Then I'm in a room upstairs getting dressed in a long thick embroidered gown (it's about 85 degrees outside) and a veil... "You're the bride. You sit on the right. Your face is covered. ... Okay, go downstairs now and try not to fall..."

Then I'm walking down the stairs with Mike in the dark (we're supposed to be a surprise). A black veil covers my face. No one can see me, but I can partially see -- as if through black translucent glass...

Mike and I sit side by side on chairs while the group walks around us, chanting and holding candles. I am sweating in every crevice of my body, along my hairline, down my back. It is all absurd, and I am trying not to laugh. ("You're supposed to be sad," the guide explained. "Why?" "It's a tragic day -- you're leaving your family, your friends. Perhaps it's an arranged marriage...")...

The head waiter smears henna into a circle on my palm. (It comes off after a week.) Then the veil is lifted and I squint and try to keep my face rigid while everyone claps. Then we dance, shake hands with the waiters... I get into it, twirl around. The music stops, we bow.

So that's how I was married in Turkey. (What happens in Şanlıurfa stays in Şanlıurfa...)

How To Make Nana Tea

A funny thing happens on trips after several days of complete cultural immersion. You become so attuned to novel experiences and attitudes that you begin to take almost anything in stride, even beyond the point of logic and reason. Some call it "the suspension of disbelief." But I prefer Leigh's catch-phrase for it: "the donkey ate the horse," or "the camel ate the elephant." On the trip to the southeast, if someone had told us such a thing, we would have nodded and accepted it without comment, as if it were perfectly natural.

Let me give an example. Over the course of two days in this "Land of Large Moustaches" (as Mike called it), we had visited an ancient monastery where the Christian sect apparently still spoke Aramaic (a language I thought long-dead).

Near Hasankeyf, we had seen two enormous hunks of rock stranded in the middle of the Tigris River -- the remains of a bridge built for unknown reasons around 1160.

At a kiosk stop in Şanliurfa,* we were offered a brown bubbly drink -- meyan -- made out of pure licorice but actually tasting like a combination of oats and dirt. It is supposedly incredibly good for your stomach, but I could only muster a few sips. (Our driver Suleiman downed a large plastic cup in five seconds flat. I think the key is not to taste it.)

We passed a man driving a donkey cart full of hay. We crashed a traditional Turkish wedding at our hotel and our guide Omer made us dance. So, wearing capris and flip-flops, we danced the Turkish version of the hora with complete strangers.

Finally, that evening we went to a farm to meet with ethnic Yezidis.** We sat at a long table outside, most of it in shadow. The conversation about Yezidis was through the translation of our program director, Erika. Although we tried to keep up, in the end those of us on the far end of the table gave up and just relaxed. Flies buzzed around the small lamp, our tea spoons clinked against tea glasses, the smell of manure mingled with the scent of hay and wild flowers...

One of the owners of the farm decided to show us how to make nana tea -- black tea with lots of sugar and mint leaves. Although less common in Turkey, nana tea is the ubiquitous drink in much of the Middle East.*** The guy spoke no English but he tried to mime the instructions, while we squinted at the dictionary.

He showed us how to crush the mint with our fist so that its scent is released. Then he put some mint leaves in his mouth and pointed at the cup, saying something we couldn't understand (at that point, we had had less than a full week of Turkish).

Not sure of what to do, we followed suit, chewing the hard leaves and then spitting them back into our tea cups. At that moment, if he had told us to break the cups and then dance on the table, we probably would have done so. Another instance of "the camel ate the elephant."

(Later we figured out that he was just chewing the mint leaves for fun. What he was really trying to explain was that hot water had to be poured over the crushed leaves for a proper brew. Yeah...)



Time for this post to end, but the next (and last) post from this trip is the long-promised "My Fake Turkish Wedding."



*Originally it was called Urfa but was renamed "The Illustrious Urfa" ("şanlı" means illustrious or renowned) after the Turkish War of Independence because its militias successfully held back the British and the French after World War I. Also code for "lots of your people died so we're giving you a special name." There are several other cities so honored in Turkey.

For more about the Turkish commemoration of its independence, see the upcoming post about the Atatürk Museum.


**The Yezidis are a pre-Islamic religious minority with substantial populations in Northern Iraq, along with communities in Turkey, Armenia, Georgia, Iran, Russia and Syria. The origins of their religion are largely unknown, its traditions and beliefs secretive and with diverse explanations. Sometimes they have been labeled "Satanic."
One of the guys from our trip met the community while posted in Northern Iraq and wanted to learn more about them. If you are curious, here is the Wikipedia article.


***Many of the people in Southeastern Turkey also speak fluent Arabic and consider themselves Turkish Arabs (or Arab Turks). Probably the cultural influences from the Arab world are more prevalent here...