"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...