Ellen in Turkey

Phaselis

2012-02-20T14:42:00.001+02:00

Back in Sept, when my friend Catherine was visiting, we took a trip to Phaselis. When we came back we ate a seafood dinner which included a mussel that made me violently ill the next day. I think that's why I forgot I had all these beautiful photos of our day trip.

Situated on three contiguous bays, Phaselis was a port city of the Roman Empire. Ancient ruins of the aqueduct as well as remains of the city are on view in what is now a national park. Phaselis is my kind of ancient site, because when you get tired of looking at its old rocks you can jump right into the pristine water of its secluded bays.

The beach at Phaselis- empty even in tourist season

My original idea was to take an all-day boat trip from Kemer to Phaselis. This would include a nice lunch on the boat and would eliminate the hike from the entrance of the park to the beaches. So we took a dolmus to Kemer, but when it got to Kemer I had no idea how to get to the harbor. When the dolmus driver asked "Phaselis?" I said yes. I was hoping he'd take us to the harbor to catch a boat, but as it turns out this was the Phaselis dolmus. What the heck, we thought, at least we'll get there.

An ancient arch on the way to the beach at Phaselis

We did get there, but without the boat there was no way of getting lunch. This didn't bother Catherine, who never eats lunch, but I had to stock up on chocolate bars at the snack shop at the entrance. I suppose it's good that I'd done my research and knew there was no food there, but it would have been better if I'd have used that information to pack a lunch. Of course, I'd planned to have lunch on a boat, but by now I should know that things don't always go as planned.

Anyway, armed with water, orange juice and chocolate we began the schlep, ur ,walk to the beach. It was a hot day, so swimming was the first order of business. After we'd cooled off we did some exploring of ruins.

Ancient ruins in Phaselis

Ruins of a theater at Phaselis

We eventually made our way back to the entrance to catch a dolmus back to Antalya. I still think the boat ride from Kemer is the better way to go. In addition to the advantage of food and avoiding sun-stroke (and the boat rides are fun anyway), dolmuses go from Antalya to Kemer and back much more often than to Phaselis, so there's never a danger of having to wait a long time for a ride home. As it happens, we didn't have to wait very long.

Catherine and I have been traveling together for longer than either of us care to admit; we were teenagers on youth orchestra trips around the world. We both know that improvised days can be some of the best travel experiences. This one certainly worked out just fine.

This Week in Music: Antalya Edition

2012-02-11T10:13:00.000+02:00

One of the things I love about living in Turkey is how integrated music is into Turkish life. You see statues of musicians everywhere you turn. Some are playing Turkish instruments.

Others represent Western Classical, Jazz or Rock musicians. There's even a frog band:

At the entrance to Karaalioglu Park, Frog statues play under ads for Antalya's Piano Festival

I heard six different types of music within the past week. Here's a summary:

Monday I met friends for dinner at the Italian restaurant called "My House". The group included two German women and their Turkish boyfriends. There was a large family gathering at the next table, and they'd brought musicians playing violin, oud ( a Turkish guitar), clarinet and bongo drums. The repertoire consisted of traditional tunes (all the Turks in the room knew the words) and Arabesque instrumentals.

The patriarch of the big group saw us enjoying the music and invited us to dance. Gabi and I did some wiggling while the men did some stomping, and then I joined the group doing the pinky-holding cirle dance (not its real name). I don't know what the dance is called, but I did it at Nazli's sister's wedding, so it's probably Kurdish rather than Turkish in origin.

Pat got frustrated with salsa steps and started a conga line.

Tuesday is Salsa night, so it was another dance workout, this time with recorded music. One of the guys I was dancing with turned out to be a musician who teaches guitar at the University and plays in hotels and clubs around town. We decided to get together to read through some songs, so the next day (Wednesday) we worked through various standards as well as some rock tunes. The rock stuff doesn't really work in my voice, but an evening of acoustic guitar and standards is a possibility.

Wednesday night is Ayyas night, where the band plays Turkish pop, folk and sometimes American rock classics. From Ayyas we went to Ruud Bar in Konyaalti for the jam session of bluesy rock. I was out dancing for the third time in a week. That has never happened to me in New York. I've seen three operas in one week, but that's rarely as much fun.

Ayyas Meyhane, Kaleici

Which is not to say I've completely abandoned classical music: Friday night I went to the Antalya Symphony concert and heard Spohr's Concerto for String Quartet and Orchestra as well as a fine performance of Mendelssohn's Scottish Symphony.

Saturday night it was back to the Italian restaurant , where a mezzo-soprano pop singer and a guitarist serenaded us with everything from Turkish pop to Sting, Sade and Lady Gaga in occasionally comprehensible English. But you haven't lived until you've heard an acoustic version of "I will survive" sung in Turkish.

And with that, my week in Music came to a close.

Termessos: Hiking through the Ruins

2012-02-02T14:58:00.002+02:00

The ancient city of Termessos is situated in the Taurus mountains 30 Kilometers from the center of Antalya, at an altitude of 1,500 meters. Its position made it so invulnerable to attack that even Alexander the Great was unable to conquer it in 333 b.c.e. An ally of Rome, Termessos was granted a free city charter from the empire in 71 c.e. and flourished until the fourth century, when an earthquake destroyed its aquaduct.

Well, Termessos may have been too much for Alexander the Great, but for me it was an opportunity to spend a day with friends getting some outdoor exercise while exploring ancient ruins.

It was Emily who convinced Billy to rent a car and take us, along with his seven year old son , for a day trip. Emily's been teaching English here for about a year. She's from Colorado, so hiking up a mountain is as natural a Sunday activity for her as heading to Barney Greengrass for bagels and lox is for me.

Temple of Athena

Speaking of food, on the way up we spotted a gozleme stand, so we decided to pick some up to take with us. Spinach for the grown-ups and potato for Ellis. We ate them at the foot of the mountain, at the picnic tables next to the temple of Athena.

After fortifying ourselves with gozleme it was time to head up the mountain. It started off just fine, with an easily manageable uphill slope:

Later, the path got rockier and steeper :

And finally, we were just climbing through rocks to reach the top of the mountain:

Just when I started thinking to myself ,"I'm too old for this sh*t" , we reached the payoff - the famous amphitheater. It's not in the pristine condition of the one in Aspendos, nor is it as large, but its position on the mountain top makes the Termessos amphitheater unique and worth climbing over rocks to see.

Next to the amphitheater were the remains of several archways, and Ellis insisted on exploring every one.

It began to get cold around three o'clock, so Emily and I convinced the boys to start heading down the "path". I was less concerned with the cold than with the visibility; once the sun went behind the mountains we wouldn't be able to see where we were going. The prospect of having to negotiate a steep and rocky terrain in the dark was not appealing. But we made it down, and I only fell once in the process.

At the bottom of the hill we visited the necropolis, where the dramatic tableau of tombs strewn about the wilderness reminded me of the Francesca Zambello production of Lucia di Lammermoor:

Emily thought the tombs looked like cassette tapes. I guess we have different musical references, but I could definitely see the cassette once she mentioned it.

Cassette tomb at Termessos

Ellis was just happy he had more places to climb into:

Ellis and Emily in a tomb at the Termessos necropolis

When Billy was finally able to get Ellis into the car he fell asleep almost immediately (Ellis fell asleep; Billy was driving).

We drove back to town listening to Guy Lombardo sing "Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think". This seemed apropos, just in case we'd missed the point of the tombs.

Antalya in Winter: Paradise Lost and Found

2012-01-28T11:50:00.000+02:00

Antalya's Winter on a sunny day

When you ask people why they moved to Antalya, the sunny weather is usually on top of their list of reasons. So when Antalya turns grey and rainy I suppose it's natural that some of us feel a bit down and wonder what we're doing here. Personally, I enjoy the occasional rainy day; it gives me an excuse to have a lazy day at home, reading or watching a movie. In the beautiful weather I always feel like I "should" be outside. But when the rainy days pile up it does start to affect my mood.

This week it rained on Tuesday, but by late afternoon I was out of the house anyway to meet Gabi for dinner and salsa dancing downtown. On Wednesday it rained again, but Patrick called and offered to pick me up on his way to Ayyas for the weekly anglophonic beerfest.

But when I woke up to a gray and rainy Thursday I could no longer fight the blues; I resigned myself to moping around the apartment. While avoiding productivity by wasting time on Facebook I noticed a post on my wall from Nob Stewart, the comedic character and alter ego of my friend Billy. It was a video of Meatloaf's "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" with a suggestion that we sing it together. That was good for a laugh.

I sent Billy a message and we chatted a bit about rain and bad moods. I mentioned I was out of cookies but that I'd found a beer in my fridge, whereupon Billy offered to keep me company and bring more beer. Sounded like a plan.

When he arrived wearing purple tartan pants with a red tartan shirt and non-matching red tartan vest (not for nothing is he known as "crazy Scottish Billy") he'd brought not only beer, but DVD's, a hard drive full of films, a book of conspiracy theories and a boom box with fifty years of rock music. Billy always brings the party with him. Here I am with him at Patrick's Halloween party, wearing one of Billy's wigs:

Antalya Expat Halloween

We ended up watching Nob Stewart videos, discussing the crazy conspiracy book (which I promised to read in order to more fully understand the paranoia therein), tossing around ideas of a joint venture of combining web resources ( Billy's site is Antalya Living) and collaborating on an Antalya guidebook, and of course drinking the beer. Perfect rainy day entertainment!

The next day was sunny and beautiful, and my Winter blues had vanished. Crazy Billy brings the sunshine! Thanks, Billy.

What's taking me so long to publish this blog post?

2012-01-15T22:30:00.001+02:00

I seem to have a problem with procrastination. Even before spending the week reading about blogging I knew the first rule of blogging was to blog; if you don't post frequently you disappear. Obviously, if learning about blogging is keeping me from blogging, that cant be a good thing. I can rationalize it , though, by quoting Abraham Lincoln: "Give me six hours to chop down a tree, and I'll spend the first four sharpening the ax." Yeah, that's the ticket. I'm sharpening my ax. And reading is so much easier than actually thinking up something to write.

Fortunately, I was knocked out of my laziness by an invitation from my facebook friend Amy Gutman (a real writer - books and everything) to write a guest post on her blog Plan B Nation. Not only that, she actually told me what she wanted, so I didn't have to deal with that pesky "thinking of something to write" thing.

I also finished my third article for Matador Abroad's "10 extraordinarily Useful Phrases" series. I've now written this for Turkish, German and Italian. One of the reasons I'm successful in "pitching" these articles is that it's a formula, so I know what they want. The editor has also expressed interest in articles on off-color language. I've drafted one on all the different German phrases with the word "Arsch" (ass) in them. Next will be Italian nasty phrases, most of which include the word "cazzo" (dick). I'm sure that says something about their different cultures.

Another thing keeping me from my blog was, you know, life: Teaching my "English for Russian Nine-year-olds" class; meeting anglophones at Ayyas; shopping at the weekly pazar; and the most recent addition to my schedule, Salsa dancing, kept me busy. And of course I have to spend some time outside: On Friday morning it was so warm I did a yoga class on my balcony.

So there you have it. I haven't posted because I've been busy. Besides, I still haven't thought of anything to write about.

Phaselis, a place nearby that has nothing to do with this post. (My friend Marta says I need more photos on my blog.)

5 Reasons Nobody will Read this Blog Post

2012-01-09T16:37:00.004+02:00

I've been doing a little research lately on the whole search engine optimization thing, and I now understand what I've been doing wrong, and why nobody will read this post. Here's what I learned:

1. Nobody will read this post because they can't find it. This blog has a 0 google pagerank, whatever that is. It only gets 2,000 hits a month, which I guess equals zero in the world of 10,000 hit a day blogs. (Yeah, I know, the logarithm is way more complicated than hits. I also rank low in other ways.)

2. Even though this post follows the advice of the blogging experts and has a number in it, this is the only list post on my blog. Terrible of me, really. List posts are click magnets, they tell me. Since I haven't built up my readership and my pagerank with previous list posts, nobody will find this one. I have written a couple of list posts for other sites, but I like to stick to more traditional forms of writing for my own blog.

3. My titles suck. Never mind that I haven't been paying attention to keywords for search engines to find me, I haven't even made it easy for humans to find me. I've been writing blog posts like chapters in a book, with quirky, interesting titles which (I hope) peak curiosity. But the internet is not a book, and people aren't flipping through the pages and stumbling upon titles (even if they're using stumble upon). They are searching for topics they're interested in, and even if my post is on that topic, if the title doesn't reflect that, how will they know to click on it ? Duh. After blogging for over a year I've just come to this realization. I suck at all things computer. But I'm re-writing my blog titles, so let's see if that helps.

4. I haven't written an e-book with which to lure you onto my subscriber list. People seem to have a lot of success with these things, but most of the e-books I've read are complete crap. The travel ones, in particular of full of such "useful tips" like "Don't eat in a tourist destination. Eat where the locals eat", and other words of wisdom anyone who's even thought about travel already knows. Or I could give you "Free! Download my favorite travel photos! Which you could also see on my website!" But I don't. So I don't give "value" to my readers.

5. People aren't linking to me. Maybe it's because I make fun of their e-books? No, this is the first time I've done that. People aren't linking because I haven't been active enough in forums, and haven't commented on enough of their blogs. Not only that, I haven't replied to every single comment on my blog, and that's rule 1.

I recently read a post on increasing traffic which suggested I could get 100 comments on a single post on my blog. All I had to do is comment on 100 blogs, and then when half of them return the favor by commenting on mine (an overestimation, from my experience) I reply to their 50 comments and that makes 100! And I should be able to do all of this in one hour! That's right, find 100 blogs I have something to say about, say it, and respond to the response. Guess I just don't read and write fast enough.

Now that I'm getting notification of every comment though, I can at least respond to real comments. But sometimes I just don't have anything to say. How many times do you want to read "Thanks for stopping by" or "Thanks for your comment" at the end of every post? When you comment on a post, do you check back later to see if you were thanked for it? I don't. I know I'm tired of reading these semi-automated replies on other blogs, so I'm not putting them on mine. So sue me.

So there you have it. If you want a successful blog, do not follow my example.

But if you are reading this, thanks for stopping by! And please leave a comment!

P.S. Sorry about the broken links that may be suggested below. My attempt to improve the organization of some posts has created a new problem. The Linkedwithin folks say they're on it and it'll be fixed soon.

A Day at the Museum: Antalya's Archaeology

2012-01-05T16:07:00.001+02:00

As any guidebook on Antalya will tell you, the Archaeological Museum is one of the highlights of the city. Located opposite Ataturk Park, it's a short bus ride from anywhere on Konyaalti beach and is also easily reachable from downtown via the tram.

The museum is organized chronologically, starting with prehistoric fossils, bronze-age tools and sculptures dating from the Mycenaean Period (the 12th century B.C.)

The centerpiece of the museum is the huge collection of statues and tombs excavated from Perge, the ancient city whose ruins are a tourist destination an hour outside the city. No wonder Perge now looks like a bunch of rocks; all the good stuff is in here. I'm sure this needed to be done to ensure the preservation of the art, but I wish they'd put replicas (or at least photos) of what used to be at the site.

Perge Today

In any case, this collection of statues, many of which are in fine condition, is quite impressive. Apollo, Mercury, Hercules, and pretty much all your favorite gods are here. On one hand, it's surprising to find an exhibition of this quality and quantity in such a small city ( of about a million inhabitants), but on the other hand this is the area where these treasures were found.

After the Perge hall comes the Byzantine icons followed by Seljuk and Ottoman tiles. After all the monochromatic marble the tiles provide a welcome burst of color.

Ottoman tile

The museum continues with a display of ethnic clothing and rugs, and ends with a coin collection that spans 3,000 years.

After visiting the museum you're in the perfect spot for a coffee break; across the street in Ataturk Park there are several cafes and restaurants. One of the best places for coffee and cake is The Big Man Restaurant. (Funny English names for restaurants are de rigueur here. ) Don't be put off by the silly name. This is one of Antalya's better eateries, and comes with a gorgeous view.

The view from Big Man Restaurant

The cafe americano and cheesecake at Big Man is a perfect post-museum snack. Between the world-class museum and the New York cheesecake you'd think you were in Manhattan. Except for the view.

Antalya in Winter

2012-01-02T14:16:00.001+02:00

Antalya is primarily a beach resort with a summer season of May through October. Why, then, would anyone visit in December, when the weather can be rainy and the apartments are chilly?

No good reason, really, but I did have a visitor from Christmas to New Year's Eve this year, so it was incumbent upon me to display the joys of Antalya in winter.

Since I live near Baki Beach in Konyaaltı, the first thing we did was take a walk to the beach. On some winter days the snow-capped mountains sparkle in Antalya's strong sunlight. But this wasn't one of those days. It was a bit overcast, and it was too late in the day. In the winter the days are short; to make the most of a sunny day you have to be outside before 2:00 After that it gets cooler and windier, and by 4:30 the sun is setting. My guest was unimpressed.

Sunset in Konyaalti.

Well, there's always food. I took my friend to a local place where I'd eaten some respectable kebaps with my parents last April. That was my first mistake. If I've learned anything about dining in Antalya it's that there is no consistency in the kitchen. I've ordered the same dish in the same restaurant twice in one week and got completely different preparations. So why I thought a place I hadn't been to in 8 months would be a good idea is anyone's guess.

They had no kebaps, only kofte. The waiter went on and on about their specialty being chicken wings. So we had one order of wings and one of kofte. The wings were too spicy for me, so my friend ate them. " I fly all the way from New York and you feed me chicken wings" he grumbled.

It was cold and windy walking back to my place, and there was more grumbling about how it was 60 degrees in New York this week.

End of day 1.

P. S. I've added an Eating in Antalya page for anyone interested in the local offerings. I'll be adding to it to make it as complete as possible.

Antalya has a Basketball Team!

2011-12-20T11:30:00.001+02:00

Antalya's Karalioglu Park, right outside Carol and Bill's house.

It was a busy weekend. Saturday night was the final concert in Antalya's International Piano Festival. The closing spot was given to the Moscow Virtuosi, a superb chamber orchestra, assisted by several soloists.

The Bach A minor concerto for violin and oboe started the program, and the first half concluded with a young pianist and a Mozart's Concerto. After the intermission, which was too short for me adequately to recover from the stifling heat in the sold-out auditorium, the concert continued with the Haydn Cello Concerto and ended, appropriately enough, with the Farewell Symphony. As the players left they turned off the lights on their music stands, and this gradual descent into silence and darkness was magical. After the performance champagne was served in the Lobby, but since I was already light-headed from heat exhaustion I went straight home.

On Sunday I went Carol's house for my book group (it's a book exchange rather than a book club), where the offerings included Doris Lessing, Margaret Atwood, Toni Morrison and Philip Roth. I was even able to make a contribution this week. I usually read books on my kindle, but I was pleasantly surprised when I found the latest Kate Atkinson at the "take one, leave one" library at the Lara Barut Hotel. If you like intelligent mysteries, check her out.

While we were cozily ensconsed with our tea and cookies, Carol's husband Bill had been standing on line in the rain waitng for the Basketball box office to open. When it finally did, he picked up tickets for all of us and returned with an explanation of the procedure for us novices: We each had to show two different tickets to get in, and had to leave our change at home. Apparently Antalya's team is so bad fans were pelting them with small coins, and this is not allowed. Rotten fruit, presumably, is still an option.

We then headed off to the stadium, through a more intense security pat-down than you get at Antalya's airport, and made our way to our seats. Bill had secured nine seats together, but two guys were sitting in a couple of our seats. Bill tried to argue with the usher for a while, but eventually gave up and found a couple of seats elsewhere. I didn't understand why it was so difficult to seat people according to their tickets, but Carol explained that because the place is so often empty, people are used to sitting wherever they want. It's hard to change the system on those days when seats are scarce.

The stadium is pretty small though, so all the seats are good, and the team played surprisingly well. Despite at one point being down by 20, after a string of missed layups and turnovers, they came back to actually lead for a few minutes before losing in overtime. It was really quite exciting. The three-second rule doesn't seem to be enforced (though it is a rule - I can tell by all the two fingers and thumbs waving every time it should have been called) and goal-tending is apparently allowed. Other than that it was just like American basketball. It's a very popular sport here. Who knew?

A Lousy Cup of Coffee and a Good Cup of Tea: Kaleici and Konyaalti

2011-12-17T18:10:00.001+02:00

Downtown Antalya

Some days are just so frustrating. Like the other day, which started with an unadvertised bus route change that had me touring the entire region on the way downtown.

I'm in an irritable mood by the time I get to the bank to make the deposit needed for my residence permit . I'm briefly optimistic when I get number 688 from the machine and see that 686 is currently at the teller window, but alas, the next number to flash on the screen is 403. Then 535. Then 382. My irritation increases as I wait in the overheated bank with no idea when my number will be called.

After I make my deposit I notice there's no record of it on my bank statement. I ask the teller for my balance and she tells me the correct amount. I explain I need the document to show the balance required for my residence permit. She says I have to go upstairs for that. Not wanting to start all over with a new number and more waiting, I decide to take care of this another time. Every other time I've made a deposit I've received an accurate balance statement. I don't see why this now requires a special appointment.

So I leave the bank and attempt to console myself with a cup of real cappuccino at a cafe that uses the Italian Lavazza brand. Last time I was there it was delicious. This time it was awful. I remind myself that lack of consistency is a theme with restaurants and cafes here, and wonder why I didn't just go to Starbucks.

Leaving the coffee shop I come upon a demonstration and am glad for the entertainment. Turks are very politically active. When I first got here they were demonstrating against the U.S. voting on the Armenian genocide resolution. More recently there was a protest about school testing. They even demonstrate when they're in favor of something: At the last demonstration I saw, giant flags unfolded as the crowd chanted "we are all Turks" in support of Turkey's invasion of Iraq in pursuit of Kurdish terrorists. Today's protest is against NATO. I make a mental note to check the news when I get home.

"Print, detentions, arrests, we can't be intimidated!"

I don't usually have my camera when I come upon these events, but this time I not only have my camera, but I've recently learned how to use it: Apparently even point- and-shoot cameras have settings. Armed with this new information I set my camera for "night" and am able to get a decent shot of the protest. This modest accomplishment lifts my mood a bit as I continue my stroll past several shops full of New Year's Eve lingerie. I enter a department store and my irritated mood returns when the salesgirl follows me so closely I can feel her breath on my neck. She tails me all around the store, up and down the stairs until I can't take it anymore.

A typical display of the red lingerie worn on New Year's Eve.

It's getting a bit chilly so I head home. I board the dolmus that takes me directly to my door. Well, last week it did. But this time it doesn't make the right turn to my house, so I have to jump up and press the stop button before it heads any further afield.

At least I can stop on the way home and pick up a pide (Turkish pizza). I go in and order a kiymali (chopped meat) pide to go. The nice old lady welcomes me warmly and offers me tea. As I sip my tea my annoyance with the day begins to subside. By the time I've finished it my order's ready, so I pay the cashier and am on my way.

A minute later a young woman in a headscarf and a floral skirt catches up with me and hands me a five lira bill. She's out of breath as she tells me I paid too much. I thank her and go home to enjoy my fresh-baked pide accompanied by the melodious chanting of the call to prayer. Bad mood gone.

Why I won't go on a Cruise

2011-12-14T11:02:00.000+02:00

A Turkish gulet on a day cruise in Antalya.

No, I'm not afraid of the water. I'm not even afraid of pirates. The reason I won't go on a cruise boils down to two words: single supplement.

I recently looked into going on a cruise with my parents. I was looking for something in the summer that wouldn't require my parents to fly from California to or from Europe or the East Coast, so it looked like Alaska was the best option. I found a cruise on an upscale line my parents approve of, so Mom asked her travel agent to look into it.

Well, this was an expensive cruise to begin with, but when we learned that the single supplement was 100% that changed the price from extravagant to ridiculous. So we'll do something else; we've all been to Alaska and have no impending need to return.

But it got me thinking: Why such a stiff punishment for single folks? I mean, I understand that I always pay more for a hotel room as a single than half the cost of a double room, but paying for two, especially when the price includes food and drink, does not seem fair.

Some cruise lines offer the "solution" of finding you a roommate. Really? This isn't summer camp. It's a luxury vacation for which I'm paying top dollar. Why on earth would I want to share a bedroom with a complete stranger?

I don't see why cruise ships don't have rooms specifically designed for singles. Between the younger boomers who never married and the aging widows, there are many single people traveling alone these days. It's time for cruise lines to recognize that reality and adjust for it. Until then I'll limit my cruising to day trips from Antalya's harbor.

Okay, rant over.

A Day at Antalya's Police Station: Renewing myTurkish Residence Permit

2011-12-10T22:49:00.001+02:00

A view of Antalya's harbor from Ataturk Park. This has nothing to do with this post, but it's important to remember why I'm here.

In order to remain in Turkey past the 90 day visa, all foreigners must have a residency permit. A few days ago I took on the crowds and the bureaucracy of the Emniyet Mudurlu (police station) to get my permit renewed . I wrote about initially getting the permit in my very first post . (The main stumbling block was the fact that banks wouldn't let me open an account without a permit, and I couldn't get a permit without having money in a Turkish bank.)

Anyway, I managed to get a permit last fall and to renew it last spring. It expired while I was out of the country in July (I'd been told at the police station that this wouldn't be a problem; I need only apply again when I return). The upshot of that was that I was let into Turkey with an expired permit, and therefore didn't have the required visa when I left Turkey to go to Rome. But I made sure to get a visa when returning, so I was all set.

The thing is, you must apply for your permit within 30 days of your arrival, and you need to have a certain amount of money in your Turkish bank account. As my deadline approached I needed to make three trips to the bank to transfer funds by withrawing from my US account via ATM and depositing the cash in my Turkish account. There's a daily withdrawal limit, so I needed three days. The first day I went to the bank the system was down. I made the withdrawal but couldn't make the deposit.

It eventually dawned on me that the limit is on withdrawals, not deposits; there's no reason I couldn't make the entire deposit on the last day (assuming systems running, inshallah). So the next day I made a second visit to a closer ATM, and on the third day I made the final withdrawal and deposited the entire sum on my way to the police station. I arrived at the station at noon, at which time they close for an hour. So I joined the throngs camping out in the yard, waiting for the reopening.

Once admitted to the foreigners department I was cautiously optimistic: It didn't seem too crowded,and I'd even remembered to bring a photocopy of my passport this time. My number is called and I proffer my documents.

"You're retired?" she asks.

"Yes". I don't remember what I put for profession when I applied originally, but I figured the point was I wasn't working here; otherwise I'd need a work permit. But she wants a "retirement card". I make a 'stupid yabanci (foreigner)' face.

"Do you have a document from the US saying you're retired?" she inquires, and I make the face again. She drops the retirement issue and moves on to "you don't have enough money in this account". It's the same amount I had the last time I renewed my permit, but now that Americans can get year-long permits a year's worth of money is required.

"Do you have more money?" she asks. I explain that I have enough money in my American account, but can only withdraw 1,000 lira a day from the ATM. She asks for a bank statement and I offer to download it from the internet, but she says they can't accept that, the bank has to stamp it. She wants me to go to the bank whose ATM I use and get a statement from them. I explain that the money is in an American bank which I access through the ATM. It has nothing to do with the bank that has the ATM. She then asks to see my ATM card.

All this so far has been in Turkish. Now someone comes over to speak English with me, so we go through the whole thing again. Finally the English speaker agrees that I could transfer the money before I pick up the permit next week.

I'm given a bill to pay and now have to find the particular desk where these payments are accepted. This is no small task, but after asking directions from two people I get there. I hand the bill to the guy to process it, and he asks for my "number". My permit number? No, he wants my tax number. Now, I needed a tax number to apply for the original permit, but not since then, so I didn't bring that paper. There is some gnashing of teeth, but eventually he stamps the bill and I go to the next desk to pay it. There's a reason the word 'byzantine" means what it does.

Time for another reminder of Antalya's beauty. A closer view of the harbor.

After I pay the fee I head back to the foreigners division and present the receipt at the first available window. "What's this?"asks the guy at the window. I explain it's for my permit, hand over all my documents again and we go through the whole spiel about the bank statement for the third time. I tell him his colleague approved it. He consults with her, and then asks for my receipt. You mean the thing I just gave you? He didn't have it. Had he given it back to me? I searched through all the documents I was carrying, as well as the jacket, sweater and the scarf that was trailing along the floor. (It was unbearably hot in the office, but cold outside. I needed layers.) I didn't have it. He didn't have it. But I didn't give up, I insisted that I'd given it to him. I reminded him that he'd asked what it was when I'd handed it to him. Eventually he got tired of dealing with me and took the application anyway and gave me a receipt to pick up my permit next week.

Uf!

Wow, the Barut Hotel hacked my blog and deleted this post!

2011-12-06T16:08:00.003+02:00

This week I celebrated Gabi's birthday by spending a few days with her and her beau, Murat, at the Barut Lara Resort Spa and Suites. The idea behind this hotel visit was to enjoy eating, dancing and, most importantly, bathing in a heated room. There were also supposed to be "activities" to keep us busy. There was a yoga class available, but the timing was off; it was scheduled for right after lunch (not a good time to do yoga). And since the median age of the hotel guests was somewhere between seventy and death, I doubted the yoga would be very challenging.
The other activity consisted of shooting. It alternated between a rifle, darts and bows and arrows. Gabi and Murat partook of this activity, but I passed.

The Barut Lara Hotel

I did make use of the indoor/outdoor pool. It was a bit chilly for an outdoor swim, but with the heated water and the sun it was okay for a while. Since you could swim from the outdoors to the indoors, you didn't freeze when you got out of the pool. The indoor pool area was very warm.

The best thing about the hotel was the room. I don't usually get excited about hotel rooms, but this was really just what I wanted. The room was very spacious, with a daybed and desk in the sitting area. The bed had a thick pillow-top mattress, which is something special in Turkey. The bathroom had a great shower and bath, and the large balcony had a sea view and the afternoon sun. This was a nice change for me because the balcony in my apartment gets the morning sun. I was able to watch the sunset:

Sunset from my balcony at Barut Lara

That was the good news. And now for the rest: The first thing that annoyed me was that there was no free internet. Call me crazy, but I think an "ultra all-inclusive" ought to, you know, include everything. Maybe I spend too much time on line, but I think nowadays everyone depends on internet to keep in touch with friends, family and the office while traveling.

The evening entertainment consisted of a Samba dance group from Brazil. While the men were impressively acrobatic, the g-string-clad women were only called upon to face upstage and shake their almost naked behinds.

But the real problem with this hotel was that the food was largely inedible. I can't complain about it being all buffet, although that's not my idea of fine dining, because apparently all the "luxury all-inclusive resorts" here do that. I also can't fault the quantity (so I can't use the old Borscht belt joke), but I can fault the quality. I'm not being picky here; I'm talking about meat that smelled rotten and a whole fish that was cooked without having been cleaned. The food that was edible was flavorless. The pastries looked beautiful, but some were clearly days old and hard as rocks. The coffee I ordered at lunch was simply not coffee. It tasted like some kind of grain. Chicory, maybe? The wine was another example of the "all-inclusive" nonsense. You could buy a decent bottle of wine at a ridiculous premium; the wine that was included was absolute swill.

The path to the beach at the Barut Lara Hotel.

And one more thing: I had to check out a few hours before my ride came, so I checked my luggage. When I came back to pick it up it was nowhere to be found. They kept directing me to the same room and I kept telling them it wasn't there. There was a van in the driveway loaded up with several valises, and sure enough my bag was at the bottom of the pile. If I'd been five minutes late my suitcase would have been at the airport with a group flying to Germany.

So, the facility itself is nice, but until management changes the Lara Barut Hotel is best avoided.

Turkey Day in Turkey: American Holidays in Antalya

2011-11-28T10:36:00.001+02:00

Sea view from Talya Center, Antalya

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday, so I was very happy to be invited to a faux-Thanksgiving dinner on Saturday. The young couple hosting the party are full-time English teachers, so Saturday was a better time for the party.

Sara and Steve went all out cooking. They were unable to procure a Turkey, so they roasted a couple of chickens. Close enough. Sara also made macaroni and cheese, and Steve made (the traditional Thanksgiving?) jambalaya. They also managed a stuffing for the chicken.

Turkish cuisine was also represented; guests brought green beens (cooked the Turkish way with olive oil, onion, garlic and tomato) and mercimek kofte (lentil balls). The next-door neighbor made some fantastic potato boregi and an orange flavored cake. She doesn't speak English, and Sara and Steve only know a few words of Turkish, but somehow they've become quite friendly.

There were lots of desserts, including an apple crumble and my pumpkin surprise. The surprise was that people ate it and liked it, which I attribute to the incredible natural sweetness of the local pumpkin. ( Bal kabagi, the Turkish for pumpkin, actually means "honey squash".) I'd offered to make a pumpkin pie because it's one of the few things I know how to make, but I'd forgotten that my usual method calls for canned pumpkin, evaporated milk and a pre-made graham cracker crust, none of which are available here.

So I improvised. I bought fresh pumpkin from the market, and the grocery had pre-made cake layers, so I used those instead of a crust. For some reason the grocery had no cream, but did have a can of coconut milk so I used that. There was a minor setback when I realized I didn't have a can opener, but I stabbed the can with a corkscrew until I could get some of the liquid out. I probably should have added some regular milk, because the pumpkin didn't poof up as much as it usually does. I thought I'd balance the lack of creamyness by adding whipped cream on top, but the powdered whip cream mix I bought ended up more like a white frosting. "It's like a pumpkin trifle!" someone offered. Yeah, that's the ticket, I was going for pumpkin trifle!

I ate so much at the party it really felt like Thanksgiving. And to further the illusion, a video of Thursday's football game was playing on the computer. Completing the New York verisimilitude was the bus from Konyaalti to Lara , which was so packed it felt like a rush hour subway. And the next day, there was Antalya's version of Black Friday - the Christmas Bazaar at the Talya Hotel, organized by the International Women of Antalya to raise money for local charities.

A view from the terrace of the Talya Convention Center.

And so the weekend was full of all the holiday cheer of home plus the beautiful weather and landscape of Antalya.

I'm not Dead Yet: My New Expat Writing Life

2011-11-22T13:27:00.001+02:00

I honestly don't know how successful bloggers do it. I mean, I've read plenty of posts on how they do it, but I still don't get it. To post something coherent several times a week, especially if you're writing about the same subject for publication elsewhere, is quite a challenge.

I started this blog about a year ago, for the benefit of friends and family who wanted to know what I was up to. Eventually I began to get requests to guest post on commercial sites. There was no pay for these posts; the idea is that an unknown blogger benefits from the exposure. It kind of made sense to me. After all, when I started out as a singer I was grateful for the opportunity to sing and be heard. So far though, these posts do not seem to have generated much traffic to this blog.

Next came the "paid" articles for online travel sites. I call them "paid" because earning 25 dollars for three days' work merits quotes. It's not that I'm a particularly slow writer, although I'm sure the more experienced can toss off these pieces quicker than I, but when you have to add photos, links, and in one case recorded sound files, it takes time.

The long-term goal of all this is to establish myself as a writer with expertise on the Turkish Mediterranean, and thus eventually to earn actual money writing for actual print. I'm not expecting this to happen any time soon, but it's nice to feel like I have a 5-year plan.

And now for the obligatory travel photo:

Phaselis, Antalya

A Day in Trastevere: A Photo Essay

2011-11-16T10:41:00.003+02:00

After spending two days with my parents walking around the Piazza Barberini area I decided to venture further and take a long walk to Trastevere. It was made even longer by my lack of directional skills, but I wasn't on a timetable so it didn't matter that I walked in circles once or twice.

Kosher restaurants in Rome's Jewish ghetto.

On my way to Trastevere I found myself in the Jewish Ghetto. It's a very busy neighborhood, and he restaurants looked nice, but I figured my chances of finding prosciutto there were slim. So I continued walking.

To get to Trastevere you of course have to cross the Tiber, which provides a nice photo op:

View from a Trastevere bridge, with St. Peter's in the distance.

People often compare Trastevere to Greenwich Village in New York, and I can see why.
Like the Village, Trastevere was once the home of the "starving artist", and like the Village it's now gentrified into a very upscale area.

A courtyard restaurant in Trastevere

The neighborhood is full of narrow cobblestone streets and many charming restaurants and trattorias. Some eateries in the area offer tourist menus, but one offered the following sign:

The blackboard on the right has the menu; the one on the lefts says "We are against war and tourist menu".

At the end of restaurant row I arrived at the main architectural attraction: Santa Maria in Trastevere. It's one of the oldest churches in Rome (dating from 340), and possibly the first church dedicated to Mary. After visiting so many Baroque churches while wandering aimlessly (they're as prevalent here as Starbucks in New York), it was refreshing to visit a Romanesque construction, with its grandeur in its simplicity. Santa Maria in Trastevere also has thirteenth century mosaics in its nave, which I found far more beautiful and impressive than all the Baroque bric-a-brac I saw elsewhere.

Santa Maria in Trastevere

The weather seemed to change instantaneously in Rome. One minute it was sunny and warm, and then it clouded over and the temperature dropped dramatically. I had just left Santa Maria in Trastevere when the dark clouds turned to rain, so I decided it was time for lunch. I stopped at the closest pizzeria and had a Margarita Special (with fresh raw mozzerella on top), a Pellegrino and an espresso macchiato which came with two big cookies!

Polvere di Tempo

After lunch (when the rain had stopped) I continued my wanderings and came across a fascinating shop. Polvere di Tempo (Dust of Time), on Via del Moro between Santa Maria and Ponte Sisto, is a collection of hand-made measuring devices based on antique designs. Hourglasses, thermometers and sundials are just some of the objects you'll find here. I bought myself a little souvenir, a tiny compass to wear around my neck. If you're in the neighborhood, check out this unique shop. If not, you can visit their website in English.

Castel Sant'Angelo

From Via di Moro I continued on to Ponto Sisto, crossed the bridge and headed north for a photo of Castel Sant'Angelo, from which Tosca jumps to her death at the end of the Puccini Opera.

By this point it was getting dark and it was time to find my way back to the Via Veneto. Good thing I had my compass.

Eating in Rome: Antica Pesa, Trendy Dining with the Stars

2011-11-14T15:32:00.002+02:00

After our concierge recommended Antica Pesa for the best in Roman cuisine we googled it. Its website is complete with a video of the cook describing his creations, and the proprietor (his brother) being photographed with Deniro, Dicaprio and Travolta. Now, I don't really care what celebrities think about restaurants, and this sort of advertisement kind of puts me off. But hey, at least the celebrities were Italian. We decided to give it a shot.

We took a cab to Trastevere and were welcomed into a lobby where we waited until the restaurant began seating. Like Hosteria Romana, Antica Pesa opens at 7:15. ( I guess they do that for the foreigners, because the Romans don't show up until much later.) Unlike the Hosteria though, we were in an elegant room, rather than a parking lot, while we waited. The room was decorated with a large modern mural on one wall and photos of the proprietor with celebrities on the other.

Within a few minutes we were escorted into the dining room. It was a closed space that had a garden feel to it. (There's another, more beautiful, room in the restaurant which wasn't being used. It must be a seasonal thing.) Tables were adequately spaced, and it wasn't too noisy. We asked for the wine list and were presented with a heavy tome that resembled the Gutenberg Bible. I'm not even exaggerating here; this thing was easily a thousand pages long, and bound in leather. We opted not to read it and instead requested a Pinot Grigio, which was fine.

Our first course was was spaghetti with dried roe. It had a light cream sauce and the flavor was subtle and delicious. My main course was a whitefish filet in a potato-leek cream sauce with chanterelles on the side. Again, a delicate, subtle flavor. I was getting the impression that they were going for a sort of Nouvelle Cuisine Italienne, and when I went back to review their video, the cook did say he wanted to create a lighter cuisine based on traditional Roman ingredients.

After these two simple but elegant courses I was surprised to find my dessert a bit of a hodge-podge. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I ordered the "cocotte", which turned out to be a miniature sauce pan with several layers. On the bottom was a salty hazelnut cookie. Then came slices of persimmon, topped with "smoked black tea ice cream", and finished with a sprinkling of bacon bits. Yes, the ice cream was topped with bacon. I've since discovered that this has been happening in upscale restaurants for some time. I was aware of the trend toward savory ingredients in desserts and cocktails, but this still struck me as odd. It tasted good though.

The only disappointment with this restaurant was that the level of service was not commensurate with the standard of food. The waiter neither refilled our wine glasses nor remembered our orders. At a place pretentious enough to have a thousand page wine list, "who had the fish" seemed out of place.

Eating in Rome: Osteria Romana

2011-11-11T17:08:00.001+02:00

Bernini's Triton Fountain, in Piazza Barberini

When eating in Rome, the most authentic Roman food is found in the Trattorias and Osterias. They serve all the classic dishes the old fashioned way. Some have a charming terra cotta decor to enhance your experience, but others, like the Osteria Romana, rely entirely on the food.

You wouldn't notice this place walking by; it's hidden in what looks almost like an alley (Via Boccaccio) around the corner from the Piazza Barberini. We were directed to this place by one of the women working at the Hotel Majestic, after the first recommendation by the concierge looked sketchy on the trip advisor reviews. We returned to the desk and asked for someplace for Roman food, rather than a pretentious "ristorante" catering to upscale visitors.

This Osteria was exactly what I was looking for. We had a bottle of Castelgreve Chianti Classico which was so smooth I didn't notice how much of it I'd had until much later. I ordered the Saltimbocca (literally, "jump in mouth"), thin sliced tender veal with prosciutto and fresh sage. It was perfect. As a side dish I had Carciofi (artichoke) a la Romana, an entire boiled artichoke (without the outer leaves) covered in olive oil and herbs. Delicious.

For dessert I had the classic Tiramisu (throw me over) with an espresso macchiato. I could eat this meal every day for a month and not get tired of it.

As if these culinary offerings were not enough, we were treated to the comic stylings of our crazy waiter. When he brought the steak knives he approached from behind my Dad and mimed stabbing him. When the place got too noisy he screamed at everyone to shut up. And when he brought the milk for my macchiato he had a plastic boob pop out of his vest and he squeezed it in the direction of the milk pitcher.

These antics reminded my parents of the New York delis at which waiters virtually throw the food at you, prompting my Mom to ask, "did you train in New York?" His response: "No, Chicago!" And he mowed down everyone in sight with an imaginary machine gun.

A memorable evening.

In which I narrowly escape being thrown into a Turkish prison

2011-11-03T20:01:00.003+02:00

I'm in Ataturk Airport on my way to meet my parents in Rome for a few days. They live in California, and I only make the trip to the States once a year. So their cruise leaving from Rome was a great opportunity to see each other. Rome isn't really very far from Antalya, but of course I have to go through Istanbul, so it takes a whole day. But I almost didnt make it at all. Heres why:

I'm at Ataturk airport, having just stood on line for an hour to check in, even though I was in transit. Why can't Turkish Airlines check me all the way through?

After waiting on line again, this time for passport control, it's finally my turn.

"Merhaba. Kolay gelsin." I say politely as I hand over my passport.

"Residence permit" says the passport control officer.

Uh oh, I thought. I'd neglected to renew my permit because I knew I was leaving the country before the 3 month visa limit. I figured I'd get to it in November.

"I need your Residency Permit" he repeats, switching to English, thinking my stammering was language-related.

" I don't have one. I arrived in September, less than two months ago. I'm allowed to stay three months, right?"

"Yes, with a visa."

Aha, now I see the problem. When I left in July I'd had my permit, which I needed because I'd been in Turkey almost a year. But when I returned, my permit had expired. I was just entering Turkey as a plain old tourist, and should have been sent to the line to pay my $20 and get my visa.

But I keep my residence permit in a cute case together with my passport. Apparently the officer who checked me in misread my visa from the year before and just stamped it without having me buy a new visa. Having my residence permit next to my passport probably gave the impression that I knew what I was doing.

Yes, I should have known I needed a visa, but I'd just arrived from NY on a 12 hour flight that was three hours late and I'd missed my connection to Antalya. I was thinking about how I was going to get home, not what stamps my passport would need in order for me to be able to leave.

I explain this to the officer, but he just repeats "You need a visa".

"Let me buy a visa," I plead, "It's not my fault I was let in without one". Kind of true, actually.

But Memur Bey was not convinced. "Please wait over there" he says as he picks up the phone.

Allah Allah, I thought, here we go. Please god, let his superior be capable of independant thought. I was dreading the "by the book" type: No visa, no exit. I'd heard of people detained because of expired visas.

I had visions of a night in jail, with my parents paniking when I fail to show up in Rome. I wonder if you even get a phone call when you're arrested in Turkey?

So, the next officer shows up and I go through the explanation again. He takes my passport and disappears. I'm holding my breath.

When he returns, he hands my passport to the guy at the counter. I run up to the counter and see the officer stamp my passport. I exhale.

"Next time, get a visa" he advises as he hands me my passport.

No kidding.

Adventurous Travel: Cooking a fish in my Antalya apartment

2011-11-02T15:30:00.001+02:00

Last night I did something in Turkey that I never did in the States: I cooked a whole fish. Now this may not sound like a big deal, but for someone who doesn't do much cooking it felt like an accomplishment.

Which raises the question of why I never tried this at home. I had an oven in my Manhattan apartment. Okay, it was used for storage, but still. I could have cooked a fish in it. But it never occurred to me. Occasionally, when I felt like "cooking" I would buy a salmon filet and throw it on my non-stick grill pan, but most of the time I would go the typical single New Yorker route and pick up a prepared dinner at Fairway or Zabar's.

So what prompted me to do it here? Was it just that I was tired of my repertoire of pasta, grilled cheese, and omelettes? An example of necessity being the mother of invention? Was it because the fresh fish at the Friday market is so appetizing? Or was it the fact that when I'm in a different country I no longer feel the limitations I place on myself at home? Is this actually the same phenomenon, writ extremely small, as someone afraid of dogs who goes on a Safari, or someone afraid of heights who goes skydiving?

For whatever reason, it seems that being in a new place facilitates trying new things, even simple things that could have been tried at home.

What do you think? Does travel make you braver? Have you done things overseas you never thought you'd do?

I'm officially versatile!

2011-10-31T11:08:00.002+02:00

I am honored to have been nominated by the inimitable Jack Scott for the Versatile Blogger Award, and I humbly accept.

These awards were created by Kate, and come with certain conditions: The nominee must formally accept the award in a blog post, display the logo, reveal seven quirky things about themselves (which aren't already evident in their blog), and nominate other blogs for the honor.

Heres the bit about me:

1. When I was 15, traveling with a youth orchestra, I lost my passport and was left in Peru while the rest of the orchestra went on to Chile. I was put in touch with the American Consul, and really wasn't too much troubled by the whole thing. I guess that's where I started to get the idea that being alone in a foreign country was nothing to worry about.

2. I still wear some of the clothes I bought in high school. I've never been interested in fashion, and I guess neither my size nor my taste has changed much in the last 30 years.

3. I'm terminally single. Although I always had a boyfriend in high school and college, it's been rough going since then. The longest relationship I've had lasted four years. And all my girlfriends hated him.

4. The only course I've ever failed was driver's ed. This meant I couldn't get a learner's permit to drive at 16, and I didn't get a driver's license until I was 23. As it turns out, I'm a terrible driver. After moving to New York I had no need to drive, so I let my license expire. Friends and family rejoiced.

5. I don't like guacamole. This seems quirky to me for two reasons: First of all, I like almost anything that can be classified as food; and second, everyone else seems to love it. People always say "let's get some guacamole!". Nobody ever asks "does anyone like guacamole?".

6. I read Tarot cards. This isn't necessarily quirky per se, but since I'm known as an uber-rationalist (one of my friends calls me "Miss Logical"), my card-reading hobby tends to come as a surprise.

7. I have a terrible sense of direction. Ever since the destruction of the World Trade Center I have trouble determining North and South when I exit a New York subway. And that's my home town. It took weeks before I could find my way from the bus stop to my apartment here in Antalya.

And here are my nominations:

Middle East Travel Blog

Carpetblogger:Caustic Commentary from Istanbul

Unterwegs

Turkey File

Reborn Koala

Enoy!

I'm a Stranger Here Myself: Why Turkey attracts Expats

2011-10-27T16:00:00.003+03:00

Baki Beach, Konyaalti

We had barely put down our beach blankets when a stranger struck up a conversation:

"The sea is nice, it's not cold," he said in beginner's Turkish.

"Really?" I responded skeptically, having already dipped my foot in the unseasonably cold water. We chatted a bit, and then he asked if we were Turkish. (With my dark hair and eyes and olive skin I can pass, but Gabi's Aryan look is a dead giveaway.)*

"I'm American," I replied, "and my friend's German."

"American? I'm Canadian!" he switched to English, with an accent that didn't sound like it came from north of the border. An obscure French Canadian dialect, perhaps?

"What city are you from?" I asked.

I must have looked confused when answered "Toronto", so he explained: "I wasn't born in Canada. l'm half Saudi and half Kurdish. I was born in Syria. And now I live here." He pointed to the beach-front property right behind us.

We talked for a while about what brought us to Turkey, and it was two sides of the same coin: He'd been working in Saudi Arabia for several years, but didn't want to settle there. He didn't want to go back to Canada, which was too cold in both temperature and temperament. So Turkey was a nice compromise. He feels at home here because of the Mid-East culture and warm people, but he also enjoys the western aspects he got used to while living in Cadada. And of course, Antalya has great weather.

It was almost the inverse of my perspective, in that the Mid-East culture which makes him feel at home is foreign to me. But I came to Turkey because I wanted to experience a different culture. At the same time, I wanted a place where I could feel comfortable. Saudi Arabia, for example, would not have been an option. Turkey is a Muslim nation, but a secular country in which my Western ways (such as sundresses and bikinis) are accepted.

Iyar obviously also accepted these Western ways: His girlfriend was a beautiful bikini-clad woman from Kyrgyzstan. After our introductions were completed, he said "My Turkish class is having a party here on Saturday. Why don't you come? There'll be lots of people who speak English."

Foreigners who are studying Turkish, I thought, just the kind of expats I like. So we exchanged telephone numbers, and are now looking forward to seeing each other at Saturday's beach party.

*Actually, there are some blond, blue eyed Turks; my friend Fatma was constantly harassed during the few days I spent with her in Istanbul. She had to scream "Ben Turkim!" to get men to apologize and move on.

Antalya's Golden Orange Film Festival, take 2: In which I fail to be moved by an adorable rapscallion

2011-10-24T15:19:00.002+03:00

Of the four films I saw at the festival, only one was sold out. Le Gamin et le velo ( The kid with a bike) was the piece de resistance; a film by the Belgian Dardenne brothers and the winner of the Cannes Jury Prize. So I was disappointed to find this the only film I didn't like.

In addition to the two fascinating films I wrote about in a previous post, I also enjoyed White Lions, a comedy from Serbia. If anyone thinks Occupy Wall Street is about class warfare he should see White Lions to get a taste of the real thing. But this story of a working class family, struggling to earn a living any way they can, is peppered with scenes so funny that the "workers of the world unite" message goes down easily. In fact, the main character raps about it at the end. Serbian proletariate rap, now that's something you don't see everyday.

What we do see everyday are melodramas about troubled kids who just need someone to love them. And this is what we get with The kid with a bike. The film begins with Cyril's attempt to escape from the foster center where he lives. Had this been an evil place where he'd been abused I'd have been rooting for him, but it wasn't, so the first impression I got was that the kid was a pain in the ass. This impression never changed. Yes, it's sad that Cyril escapes to visit his father and finds that he's moved without leaving a forwarding address, and that he's sold Cyril's bike. But he has the good fortune to run into Samantha, a sympathetic woman who wants to help him. She gets his bike back, and lets him spend weekends with her. But the kid falls under the influence of the local bad guy, who convinces him to commit a mugging with a baseball bat. The mugging goes awry, the bad guy tells Cyril to get lost, and Cyril finally realizes that Samantha is the person who cares about him.

I have no issue with the acting or the cinematography. I just didn't find this straightforward plot very interesting, and it baffled me why this is a prize-winning film. True, I saw the film in French with Turkish subtitles, so it's possibly I missed some nuance. But I don't think so. But I also don't think I'm a child-hating ogre. What am I missing?

Has anyone else seen Le Gamin et le velo? What did you think of it?

An Interview with Matt Krause, expat in Istanbul

2011-10-20T15:10:00.003+03:00

As promised, here's the interview with Matt Krause:

The photo on the cover of your book is beautiful. Can you tell us about it?

The photo is of the Ortakoy mosque, with the Bosphorus bridge behind it. The square around that mosque is one of my favorite hangout places in Istanbul; great restaurants, great music, great scenery. That scene is also one of the top iconic images of Turkey and is often used to express Muslim/Christian cooperation, but the image could just as easily have the opposite meaning, which I discuss here.

How much Turkish did you know when you arrived? Did you learn by osmosis, self study, or a formal course?

When I arrived in Turkey I only spoke a few words: hello, please, thank you, I am an American, and "the boy is underneath the airplane". I still remember that last phrase from my Rosetta Stone course, even though I found very few opportunities to use it in real life. Shortly after I arrived I enrolled in a formal Turkish course, but I quickly fell behind and then dropped out. I took up self-study, but that just had me thinking I spoke better than I really did. Mostly I learned by osmosis, but for someone who spent 6 years in Turkey, my Turkish is horrifically bad.

In Istanbul at least, there are plenty of people who speak English. So you can get by with just a few phrases, a big smile, and plenty of humility and respect. Those go over well anywhere.

Do you speak other foreign languages, and if so, how hard is Turkish by comparison?

I studied Mandarin Chinese in college, lived in China for a year after graduation, and have done business with China for years. Chinese is actually my default foreign language. When I can't find the right word in Turkish, it's Chinese that comes out of my mouth. But I lived in China a long time ago, and my Chinese is very rusty.

Wow, after Chinese Turkish must have seemed easy.

Turkish is not that much easier than Chinese. Chinese does have the characters and the tones, which makes it harder. But I am a visual learner, so the characters don't bother me much. But Chinese grammar is very simple, and there is little or no verb conjugation. "Yesterday he go to store". "Today he go to store". "Tomorrow he go to store". Turkish, on the other hand, zips a whole lot of meaning into one word, and it's hard to unzip the words as quickly as you hear them spoken.

Let's talk for a bit about cultural differences. For example, I know an English guy here who's married to a Turkish woman. She speaks fluent English and works for an International company. One day her husband ran into her sister in town and they stopped for a cup of coffee. He immediately got a hysterical phone call from his wife, saying someone just told her her husband was spotted with a beautiful woman. He had to put his sister-in-law on the phone before his wife would calm down. Is this just provincial Antalya mentality, or does that sound like the Turkish perspective to you?

I don't think that's just a provincial Antalya thing. I've seen plenty of over-the-top displays of jealousy in Istanbul, too. Some of those displays, to an American at least, appear downright childish. I don't think Turks are inherently more prone to jealousy than Americans though. I think a raw expression of the emotion is just more accepted in Turkey. When the circumstances are similar, an American will often feel as jealous as a Turk, he or she will just express that jealousy differently.

You mentioned the famous Turkish hospitality in your book. How is Turkish hospitality different from the American kind?

I think Turkish hospitality tends to be more open to strangers than American hospitality. If you walk up to a group of Turks and introduce yourself, they will welcome you into their group first, and then they will start wondering if you're a good fit. If you walk up to a group of Americans and introduce yourself, they will wonder first if you are good fit, and then if they decide you are, they will welcome you into their group. Beyond that, the same basic human instincts rule the interactions, but with Turks, there is usually a longer grace period in which the various parties get to find out about each other, before the accepting or rejecting begins.

One of the most gripping episodes in your book is the scene in which a group of men physically assault your wife because she parked (totally legally) in front of their store after they told her not to. I find it shocking that in a society that so differentiates between the sexes it is acceptable for men to beat up women. I also notice that in situations where I'd expect an American man to lend a hand (when I'm trying to open the door to my building while carrying heavy packages) Turkish men just stand by, smoking and watching me struggle. It seems women in Turkey have the worst of both worlds: They're certainly not equal, but they're not the recipients of chivalry either. Do you agree? What's your impression of women's place in Turkish society?

I think it's absolutely true that sometimes Turkish men stand by and watch a woman struggle with heavy packages. I think it's also absolutely true that sometimes Turkish men are quick to offer help. In my opinion, how a Turkish man responds to a woman struggling with heavy packages (or any other situation where a bit of chivalry is called for) has little to do with his being Turkish, and everything to do with whether or not he's a butthead. And in my opinion, the world's butthead population is not uniquely concentrated in Turkey.

True enough. There's no shortage of buttheads worldwide.

That story in the book, about the fight over the parking space, involves physical assault against a woman. But it also involves physical assault against a man. When I tell that story, just about every single audience member has a different take on what the story means. Personally, my take on the story is that in the events that followed the scuffle, there were at least a dozen people involved, and every one of those people was Turkish except for me. Not everyone in that group believed it was okay to beat up on a woman. So if, from that story, we are going to extrapolate that in Turkey it is okay to beat up on a woman, we also need to extrapolate that in Turkey it is not okay to beat up on a woman.

Another facet I see in that story is what it says about the police in Turkey, and that it serves as a reminder that there is a difference between keeping the peace and enforcing the law. The two are not the same, even though we Americans often like to think they are. Police around the world, including the police in the US, have to walk the line between the two. Police in different countries walk the line differently, but they are all walking the same line.

What do you think of Turkish cuisine? Have you tried everything, including tripe soup and kokorec?

I think Turkish cuisine rocks. It's good old comfort food; meat, cheese, rice, bread. Tripe soup though, and kokorec, I won't go near that stuff. Fortunately, I know plenty of Turks who won't either, so I just hide behind them.

I don't blame you. There's a lot I haven't tried yet. I recently saw "boiled brains" on a menue. I was not tempted. What's your favorite dish?

My favorite dish is kofte (meatballs), french fries, and yogurt. It's practically the national dish in Turkey, so you get big kudos for loving it. But eating it is basically like being a 5-year-old kid plowing into a bowl of macaroni and cheese. It's a completely familiar and unchallenging food, completely devoid of intercultural strangeness, and yet the Turks applaud you for "going native".

Sucuk (Turkish breakfast sausage) was a more difficult adjustment for me, though. I go into that here:

Have you traveled widely throughout Turkey? What "must see" destinations would you recommend outside of Istanbul?

I haven't traveled widely in Turkey. I've only seen the Mediterranean and Aegean coasts and Kapadokya, plus a short trip to the Black Sea Region. That's like saying you've been to the US even though you've only visited LA, Seattle, and Omaha. I am planning a walk across Turkey though, so if all goes well I will be seeing far more of the place than any sane person would ever want to.

As far as "must see" destinations outside of Istanbul, I would narrow it down to "all of them". Seriously though, it depends on what you like. If you like hiking insanely green hills rising straight from the sea and don't mind a little fog, go to the Black Sea Region. If you like laying out on the beach and snorkeling in crystal clear water, go almost anywhere on the Aegean. If you like big open skies and red sandstone rocks and dry air, go to Kapadokya. And if you like boring cow-towns in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but mile after mile of undifferentiated rolling prairie, go to Ankara (sorry Ankara folks, I just had to get that good-natured dig in there).

What advice would you give to someone considering moving to Turkey?

Get all the advice you can, read up on the country as much as you can, learn some of the language, and then realize that no matter how much preparation you do, your experience will be yours, and neither you, nor anyone else, can predict what that experience will be like.

I think flexibility, a "roll with the punches" attitude, is the most important tool in any expat's toolbox. You might be the most educated and prepared person in the world, but if you don't have that flexibility, Turkey will spit you out in a second. Meanwhile, a complete doofus who knows nothing about Turkey but is willing to roll with the punches will take to the place like he was born to live there.

Thank you Matt. I really enjoyed hearing your perspective, and I'm sure my readers will too.

Burasi Türkiye, or What a difference a year makes

2011-10-19T15:08:00.001+03:00

About a year ago I started this blog with a post detailing my struggle to obtain an internet connection in my home. I was frazzled and frustrated.

Today, as a result of Turk Telekom's decision to stop sending bills by mail (and my failure to read my Turkish text messages, which are almost always sales pitches), my internet was cut off. Now, my internet connection is even more important to me now than it was a year ago, as I've become more involved in writing and even have an article due to Gecko Adventures in a few days. But I managed to restore my internet without panicking.

First, I walked calmly to the TT office where I greeted the service representative with a polite "Kolay Gelsin" (may your work be easy). Then, instead of blabbering "Internet yok!", I was able to say "my internet has been cut off". How do you like that? Passive voice and everything. When she suggested it might be because of money owed, I responded that no bill had come, and that "had it come, I would have paid it". Oh yes I did. Past subjunctive and conditional.

After I paid the overdue bill, I rewarded myself by stopping at my favorite bakery for a couple of tatli kuru pasta (cookies). Then I leisurely walked home, enjoying the beautiful weather, and fixed myself a cup of tea before trying in vain to sign on for my mail. I was still getting the error message about payment owed. I took a deep breath. "You're doing fine," I told myself, "just stay calm and call the service number." The service number was of course busy, so I had to redial about 20 times before reaching someone. I explained the problem and was told to turn the modem off, wait a minute, and turn it back on. Great. But after I did that, nothing changed. Okay, don't panic. Just call back. After another 20 tries, I connect. This time I had one of those "fast talkers" who don't slow down for foreigners, so I didn't understand everything she said. So I just repeated my story, and eventually the problem was resolved. Yay me! Yaşasin! Aferin bana!

Tomorrow we return to our regularly scheduled programming and my interview with Matt Krause.

Guest Post on Istanbul, by Matt Krause

2011-10-17T10:34:00.001+03:00

I only spent a few days in Istanbul, so when Matt (author of "A Tight Wide-open Space") offered to write a guest post I asked him to write about his adopted home town. I, like his friend, took photos of the "headliner sights", and have included a few here.

The Blue Mosque

Travel, the Unnecessary Necessity by Matt Krause

When we travel, we often want the places we visit to act like the places we imagine them to be, rather than the places they actually are.

Recently a friend of mine was planning a trip to Istanbul and asked me what he should see while he was there. Of course, I recommended he go to the Aya Sofya, and the Blue Mosque, and the Grand Bazaar. Those are Istanbul's headliner sights, and no self-respecting tourist can go to Istanbul without seeing them. If people back home found out he hadn't seen those places, his street cred as a traveler would be shot.

My friend went to those places, took a million photos, and couldn't stop raving about them. Then he asked me what he should do next. I asked him if he would be in Istanbul on a Saturday night. He said yes. I told him that he should walk Istiklal Caddesi (Independence Street).

Istanbul's Kapali Carsi (covered market)

A few days later he reported back to me. He had loved Istiklal. There are few places in the world with as dense a flow of humanity as Istiklal on a Saturday night. The street overflows with energy and excitement. Even a homebody like me can't help but get caught up in the electricity buzzing through the crowd on Istiklal.

But in the middle of his rave about Istiklal, my friend paused. I asked him what was up. He mentioned the multiple Starbucks stores, and the McDonald's, and the Burger King. He said he could get that anywhere, that he didn't need to travel around the world to see a Starbucks. “I want something authentic,” he said, “give me something authentic.”

When we travel, the reality of what we actually see rarely matches what we thought we were going to see before we got there. That is the whole point of travel. If we just want to see the world as we think it exists, the TVs in our living rooms will help us do that just fine.

When we go to a restaurant in Istanbul, Paris, Shanghai, or Santiago, we often want to our food to be “traditional”. For some reason, we think traditional is more authentic than the reality in front of us. When our waiter is wearing Levi's jeans and Nike shoes, we think our experience is less “authentic” than if he were wearing a fake costume clumsily approximating how people dressed hundreds of years ago, and certainly not how he dressed before, or will dress after, his shift. We are asking that waiter to be something he is not, so that we can have an experience we deem authentic.

The Aya Sofia

I know that when we travel we want to see what we can't see at home. But as much as we want to travel to see the differences in the world, I think the real benefit of travel is seeing the similarities.

If we wanted to see the differences in the world, we could just turn on the TV or open a newspaper. Both specialize in telling us stories about things that do not occupy our daily lives ; war, revolution, murder, scandal. They feed our fascination with things that are different, even when those differences make up a tiny portion of the human experience.

Our fascination with difference is embedded deep into our genes. We would not be humans without it.

The beauty of travel is not that it feeds that fascination, but that it feeds its opposite. Travel reminds us that 95% of the human activity on this planet is boring and already familiar to us. Travel reminds us that people all over the world like to order a beverage and gossip with their friends, that people all over the world wish they could find a good parking space, even when it's not for a car. Travel reminds us that people all over the world are primarily occupied with putting roofs over their heads and food into their mouths.

The material differences we see when we travel might be great, but they don't matter nearly as much as the emotions that drive us, and those are pretty much the same. I suppose it's not necessary to travel the world to find that out, but sometimes the noise at home is so loud travel is the only way to get away from it long enough to remember that.

Expat Book Review: A Tight Wide-Open Space

2011-10-13T18:18:00.001+03:00

Dear Readers, I'm not the only American who moved to Turkey on a whim: It took Matt Krause ten seconds to make the decision when his Turkish girlfriend told him she was moving back to Istanbul. ( I realize "I moved to be with my girlfriend" sounds more reasonable than my explanation of "I just felt like it", but still.) The story of Matt's five years in Istanbul is told in his extremely entertaining memoir, "A Tight Wide-open Space".

This isn't the kind of linear memoir that reads like a novel, but rather a series of interlocking essays. Individually, each chapter sheds light on a particular aspect of Turkey; together they create a picture of the author's life in Istanbul. The author's summary of the lesson learned at the end of each episode seems superfluous, as the writing is clear enough without the "moral of the story" being spelled out. But this is a minor quibble and doesn't detract from the enjoyment of reading the book.

I had to laugh out loud a few times just because some of our experiences were so similar. Like me, Matt arrived in Turkey with his luggage lost in transit, and like me, his first apartment was across from a mosque, and he woke up at the 5:30 AM call to prayer thinking there was someone in his room with a megaphone.

But you don't have to be an expat yourself to enjoy this ride. The conversational tone immediately draws you in and you feel like you're at a dinner party seated next to the most interesting guy at the table. The author's eye for detail and talent for description gives a real sense of place without interfering with the story. Starting off with the ritual slaughter of a sheep for the holiday of Kurban Bayram makes us immediately aware that we are not in Kansas anymore. What follows is a series of similar culture-shock episodes ranging from the truly shocking physical attack of his wife over a parking space, to the mundane encounter with "religious fundamentalists" who turn out to be just regular folks, to the hilarious hospital visit described in the chapter entitled "Fill the Cup".

The thread running through the whole book is the author's relationship with his wife, from their initial chance meeting on a flight to Hong Kong (take that, Hollywood's "meet cute" department), through the formal "going steady" meeting with her parents, to the wedding and beyond. The girlfriend/ wife (if her name was used at all, I don't remember it) is an interesting character in the book. I'm guessing the author wanted to protect her privacy, but from a literary standpoint I would have liked the character developed a bit more, and since the book is relatively short I think there was room for it. But that's what a good book does, right? It leaves you wanting more.

"A Tight Wide-open Space" is available on Amazon in paperback and for Kindle. You can also download it in PDF free of charge on Matt's website. Stay tuned for an expert guest post by Matt Krause on what to see in Istanbul, and an interview in which we discuss our different expat perspectives.

Of Film Festivals and Feminism

2011-10-09T12:47:00.001+03:00

The Altin Portakali Film Festivali (Golden Orange International Film Festival), the largest film festival in Turkey, comes to Antalya for a week every October. Films are shown with English and Turkish subtitles, in various venues around the city. Yesterday I saw two excellent films which couldn't have been more different from each other.

The first, “A Dangerous Method”, from Canadian director David Cronenberg, was about Freud, Jung, and the development of psychoanalysis. Central to the film was Sabina, who at first was Jung's patient, then his lover, and then a pioneering psychoanalyst in her own right.

The second film, “The Source” by Radu Mihaileanu, a Jewish Roumanian who lives in Paris, takes place in an arid village in the Atlas Mountains of Morocco and is filmed in the local dialect. Women here are treated like donkeys; they are beasts of burden who must carry water on their backs through rugged terrain. Like the donkeys, they are beaten when they disobey. The number of miscarriages as a result of this task finally enrages the women, led by Leila, the teacher's wife, to demand that the men take action. Instead of sitting around all day drinking tea, the men should get a pipeline built for running water.

The men refuse, arguing that they never ask women to go to war in their place. Women should continue the traditional women's work. Besides, who knows what trouble they'd get into with free time, especially now that Leila's husband has taught her to read.

Realizing that their only power over men is sex, the women start a “sex strike” a la Lysistrata.

In “ A Dangerous Method” a woman in 1910 Germany becomes a prominent physician. In “the Source”, taking place a century later, a woman is considered a trouble-maker for learning to read. Yet as different as these two films are, one similarity struck me: In both cases women are seen as female first, and as human second.

Although Sabina is educated and ultimately a professional colleague of Jung's, it is primarily her sex that defines her to him. Jung couldn't resist having an affair with Sabina, although he new that both as a married man and as her therapist it was wrong. Worse yet, he denied the affair when questioned by Freud, and portrayed Sabina as a neurotic seductress who only fantasized about him. Although he eventually revealed the truth to Freud, this indiscretion and his lying about it were instrumental in the demise of the relationship between the two men. Alas, the destructive sexual power of women!

It seems that no matter how “civilized” the society and how educated the woman, the second sex remains just that.

Antalya's Flora and Fauna: a Cook's Paradise

2011-10-02T12:01:00.001+03:00

"And this is a fig tree", she points out, as we approach my building. Now that I take a closer look I recognize those large, distinctively shaped leaves I've seen on museum paintings. Why hadn't I noticed them before? I learned so much about my natural habitat here when my friend Catherine came to visit from Los Angeles via Transylvania, where she's working on a movie. No, it's not about vampires. It's about werewolves.

I've always enjoyed our weekly pazaar where I buy fresh fruits and vegetables from the farmers. But for Catherine, a gourmet cook, it was a paradise. We spent the better part of the day there, sorting through the various and mysterious things called vegetables. Apparently some of these unknown (to me) edibles are actually part of international cuisine: The bulbous white thing I wondered about is a celery root, and the green leafy stalks next to the parsley are a delicate french lettuce called 'mache'. We bought some of both. "Okay," says Catherine, "It's decided: We're eating French tonight." You can cook French food with ingredients from the Turkish pazaar? Who knew? ( Okay, probably anyone who can cook.)

As if she hadn't impressed me enough, Catherine then heads over to the fish market. The only fish market I shop at is Citarella in New York, where I buy a beautiful salmon filet to throw on my grill pan. It would never have occurred to me to buy a whole fish. But now I pick out two 'cipura' and the 'balikci' (fishmonger) makes a motion with his hands. Catherine nods. "That's the universal sign language for cleaning and scaling a fish" she explains. Aha, so that's what has to be done to a whole fish. I'm glad I never tried just buying one and throwing it in the oven as-is.

On the walk home Catherine points to something growing in the wild. "Did you say it was hard to find fresh basil here? It's right there!" I meant in the stores, I think sheepishly. "And see that? That's rosemary." By the time we get to the pomegranate growing in the courtyard of my apartment I'm ready to admit I live in the Garden of Eden.

But the piece de resistance is the meal Catherine prepares: Mache salad to start, roast whole cipura with vegetable (provencale?) sauce, steamed broccoli (the most perfect she'd ever seen, she'd gushed at the pazaar) and celery root puree. For dessert, fresh figs and honey over yoghurt, and to wash it all down, mojitos full of fresh mint sprigs. Garden of Eden indeed.

A Guest Blogger from 1931

2011-09-27T15:46:00.002+03:00

While visiting my parents this summer I came across a collection of letters my Aunt Sarah (actually, my father's aunt) wrote to various members of her family during her first trip to Europe in 1931. I was struck by several things:

1) Letters home were the travel blogs of their time.

2) Aunt Sarah and I have a lot in common. I wonder if there's a travel gene?

3) Some things never change.

Here's an example of Sarah's travel blogging on Capri:

In the morning we had an old man row us to the Blue Grotto. The row itself was along the shore of the island with the majestic mountains on the island towering away above us. In the distance is Vesuvius, always present and awful in its grandeur. The sea is quite calm and stretching in all directions with a glaring sun overhead. And then we come to the grotto itself, a cave into which we glide seated in the bottom of the boat lest we scrape our heads on the rocks above, and then we are within fantastic darkness all around until our eyes become accustomed to the cavern, and then we behold the sea around us, not blue as the sky but a much deeper blue, clear and crystal, sparkling all around. The irregular roof of the grotto is also a blue, but a mixture of different hues and vivid. Our boatman goes into different niches, splashing his oars to demonstrate the limpid quality of the water, while I put my hand in the water and see it reflected, that is refracted, as clearly as though through a mirror. Such a sensational emotion overpowers me and I feel like Alice in Wonderland.

Sarah and I are a lot alike. In addition to being solo women travelers (her traveling companion abandoned her early on during this trip, but Sarah continued on alone), we both studied law, and we both love music. We also have high standards. Here's Sarah on a performance of Parsifal at the Paris Opera:

The performance was very mediocre; two good singers and all the rest third-rate. But the ornate Opera building all lit up inside with its brilliant promenade is worth seeing. I don't suppose you can be in Paris without going to the opera.

We also share political views (to some extent, although my Dad tells me she was a Communist, which I am not). I am certainly in accord with the following sentiment she expressed:

I had a good cry at the grave of the Unknown Soldier. It is directly under the Arc de Triomphe on the Champs Elysees. There is an ever-burning flame there and wreaths upon wreaths. All organizations that come here make a ceremony of putting flowers on the grave. They ought to put bullets into the heads of those who plan war instead!

And like me, Sarah believed that speaking the local language was essential to the most rewarding travel experience:

I wish you could hear me talk Italian. My pronunciation is abominable and I mix it with French, Spanish and mostly Latin but I get understood. It is such a thrill to feel that you are not like all other Americans who speak English only. It adds prestige to your education in their eyes if you are not so narrow as to confine yourself to your own tongue. I wish you could see how the guards in the various museums put themselves out to make sure I see everything worth seeing, and they refuse tips for it.

Amen sister! I mean Auntie!

One of the things that hasn't changed is the way woman are made to feel when they visit Italy. I remember my first trip to Italy, at nineteen. Me wouldn't leave me alone. As it turns out, Sarah at age thirty-three had the same experience:

I am convinced I must be good-looking. You'd be convinced too if every man who speaks to you admires you as such a "bella signorina". No use, it must be so. Too bad there are no Jewish eligible young men around who think so (I can hear you all echoing that, but I'm resigned to my old maidenhood!)

Like me, Sarah never married. She continued to enjoy music and travel until her death in 1983.

Aunt Sarah was fifty years old when I was born. When I was fifty my youngest niece, Zoe, was born. As I write this I'm imagining a middle-aged Zoe stumbling across her Aunt Ellen's blog. And, on the theory that there is a "travel gene", I'm wondering what country she'll be in when she reads it.

Still in Turkey, Still on Blogspot

2011-09-25T15:27:00.002+03:00

Why does everyone keep asking me how long I plan to stay in Antalya? If I'd moved to Chicago, would people there be asking me how long I planned to stay? I live here. I rent an apartment here and nowhere else. I have no plans to move. Does that mean I'll stay forever? How should I know? I had no plan to leave New York for almost twenty years. And then I left.

Speaking of moving, all the blogging experts say I should have my own domain and self -hosted site on the Wordpress platform. Ive now got as far as buying my domain (elleninturkey) and renting hosting space. It probably would have been easier had I done those two things in the same place. I have thus far been unable either to start a new blog or to redirect searches for my domain to this one. I am now simply the proud owner of a domain name and a splitting headache. So, the whole attempt of driving traffic to my site just backfired. I give up. My new goal: Have the Best Content Nobody Reads. A worthy goal, no? This whole mess is still a mystery to me.

The pool at Haluk Belen Sitesi

And speaking of mysteries, since this is supposed to be a blog about Turkey (and my last post was about New York), here's a Turkish mystery I've been struggling with: From 12:30-1:30 every day the swimming pool in my apartment complex is closed. I may not even sit by the pool and promise not to swim during this time. Everyone is evacuated from the area and the fence around the pool is locked. I have inquired about the reason for this, and the only answer I've received is "lunch break". But whose lunch break is it? The pool has no lifeguard, and the kapici (super) who expells me for this hour does not pay any attention to the pool during this or any other hours. When the pool needs to be cleaned, he kicks us out and locks the fence for the duration. So what on earth is the "lunch break" all about?

Of course, the issue is now moot; the pool is closed until next summer. Because, hey, it's sunny and only 90 degrees out (32 c). Who would want to swim in such conditions?

Sorry for all the snark today. I must be hungry.

Anyone else have a Turkish mystery theyd like to share? Anyone else have blog/host/domain problems(misery loves company)?

Playing Tourist in my home town: a week in New York

2011-09-20T22:14:00.001+03:00

A view from the Brooklyn Heights Promenade

Before I get back to my Turkish adventures I want to post a few photos I took of New york this summer. I really do love New York. I love the theater, of course (I saw The Book of Mormon and Anything Goes), and the availability of all types of food (had Thai twice and Japanese three times), but I think my favorite thing about New york is the variety of visual images. In the space of a few blocks you can see the ridiculous Naked Cowboy (a guy in his underwear with a guitar and a cowboy hat) in Times Square and the sublime Beaux Arts splendour of the Public Library at 42nd Street.

Bryant Park, with the Library in the background

At Bryant Park, the Library's back yard, you can grab a cappuccino and watch a chess match.

I was staying with my friend Donna in Brooklyn Heights, just steps from the Promenade in an elegant 19th century brownstone. As part of the protected Historic District, these charming blocks will be around for a while, providing an oasis from the ever-present construction of characterless skyscrapers. And now that the Upper West Side, my old neighborhood, has morphed into a giant outdoor mall of chain stores, Brooklyn Heights is definitely where I'd like to live if I moved back to New York. But it would take an Act of God for me to be able to afford it.

Donna's apartment

Speaking of Acts of God, I wss in New York just in time for Hurricane Irene. The storm itself didn't have mu h impact on the Heights (being heights and all)and it would ha e felt like just another big storm had it not caused a shut-down of the entire Metropolitan Transit Authority. It also caused the rescheduling of my friend Amanda's farewell performance of her rock band, which meant I had to miss it. But I did get to enjoy a mohito and nachos with Amanda at a rooftop bar uptown on my way from Brooklyn to Pennsylvania on a beautiful post-hurricane humidity-free day.

I took advantage of the fact that I was staying in Brooklyn by checking out some of the local sights. I'd been to the Brooklyn Museum before, but there was a special exhibition of - wait for it- Art of the Muslim World- that I wanted to see. Antalya does have a substantial museum, but its focus is on Antiquities. I'm much more interested in the Ottoman period, so I loved seeing all the colorful tiles and ceramics in the Brooklyn Museum.

The Brooklyn Museum

Right next to the museum are the Botanical Gardens. Late August is obviously not the best time to visit; most of the flowers were gone. But there were nice green spaces.

Brooklyn's Botanical Gardens

I also did somethings I'd never done in all my years of living in New York: I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge,

and I took a picture of my favorite building in the city:

The Chrysler Building

And then it was time to leave before I forgot why I left New York in the first place.

From Antalya to New York: What I won't do on my Summer Vacation

2011-06-30T23:08:00.002+03:00

I took a lot of photos of this boat. I thought it looked like a pirate ship.

Now that I'm getting ready to go back to the states for the summer (partly to escape the usually brutal heat that hasn't yet arrived this summer) to visit friends and family, I'm thinking of all the things I'll miss when I'm away. Yesterday I took an all-day boat ride from Kaleici Harbor with a group of German women. I was thinking, "this is the last boat ride for a while".

Our small boat was comfortable, not too crowded, and the cipura (my favorite local fish), spaghetti and salad were excellent. It was a bit chilly (!) on the way back, so we were disappointed that there was no tea. No big deal, we stopped at the tea house overlooking the harbor when we got back.

Here I am swimming during one of the boat stops.

And here's the context.

Since it was Wednesday, I stayed in town for my last Ayyas night. They've moved all the tables outside, which I find much more comfortable. One of our regulars had a birthday, and Ayyas had a cake for him! We were also saying goodbye to another English teacher who's on her way to Vietnam. So many of these people have lived in interesting places like China, Oman, Krakow, and Hong Kong. I wonder if I'll feel like moving someplace completely different in a year or so? I don't think so. The idea of living somewhere without speaking the language has limited appeal to me, and the prospect of learning Chinese, Thai or Arabic is just too daunting. After a year here I'm finally able to speak basic Turkish, but I have a long way to go before I'll be comfortable in conversations.

Early in the evening at Ayyas.

Besides saying goodbye for the summer to Carol, Bill, Annie and Carolyn, I also said goodbye to Buddy and got my last doggie hugs. He even posed for a picture. Here he is saying "cheese":

Last weekend was also the last party for a while (unless something comes up for this weekend). It was a birthday party for Leyla, the Dutch woman with blonde dreadlocks, at Cenk's place. This garden apartment is by far the coolest bar in town. There is an actual bar, with stools, in the living room. It's painted with black and day-glow pastels, with pictures of cannabis and magic mushrooms. It was like a black light poster from 1968. On the walls were dozens of vinyl LPs and coasters advertising various beers. There was a projection on the ceiling, showing Leyla and her band. The center of the room was set with drums, amps and microphones. It was open mic night. Just as Leyla was about to get started and grabbed her bass, Cenk stopped her, saying "maybe you should play this one", and presenting her with a new electric bass with a ribbon on it.

Derya, the singer with the band, had a bit of a hoarse voice. She asked me if I'd help out. So I joined her at the mic, and the next thing I knew she'd handed it to me. And that's how I ended up belting out Pink Floyd's Another Brick in the Wall as my Antalya debut. Yet another career change in my future, perhaps? Or just an extreme case of embarrassment when that performance turns up on You Tube? Only time will tell.

In Paradise without a Camera: My trip to Adrasan

2011-06-21T14:00:00.009+03:00

Why is it that my camera always malfunctions in the most beautiful places? (It's probably the same reason it never rains when you carry an umbrella.) Last year at about this time I went to Kas, and managed only a half dozen photos before my camera decided it needed its battery recharged. It gave no warning, just suddenly wouldn't turn on. Since then I've travelled with the battery charger, which came in handy in Cappadocia. My mother, on the other hand, experienced the frustration of having her battery die just as our balloon was taking off.

So when I decided to join my friend Gaby for a trip to a place she'd described as "paradise" I was sure to take my charger with me. We took the 9 AM dolmus from Migros and arrived at the Adrasan stop (a highway crossing) at 10:30. We caught a dolmus to the beach almost immediately, but sat in it a while (much longer than the 5 minutes the driver had said) before the driver realized that if he waited much longer for more passengers he'd lose the two he had. (I'd gotten off the bus and started looking for someplace from which to call a taxi.)

When we arrived at Selin Bungalows the proprietor greeted Gaby warmly. We went right to our cabin (no "check in" necessary) and then headed to the beach (which was directly across the walkway/ main thoroughfare). It was, as Gaby had described, paradise.

Photo from Turkiyeinternette.com

After a swim in the bay and a walk on the beach I immediately took out my camera and snapped several shots. Later, I saw they were all almost completely white. I thought maybe I'd accidentally changed some light setting, so I tried messing around with it, but I didn't really know what I was doing, so I had no success. I figured the camera was broken, and had to content myself with taking pictures with my cell phone. Of course, those can't be downloaded because my Samsung phone and my Mac are incompatible. So I have resorted to the internet for images that most resemble what I saw. When I got home I fixed the camera in about 30 seconds by searching "coolpix overexposed" and following the advice given in a forum. (Apparently there's something called an "ISO" setting which needed to be changed.) Why I didn't bother to try that at an internet cafe in Adrasan I can't say.

Here are some photos of Selin Bungalows, where I stayed in Adrasan. I can't download them, but the link will take you to what my photos would've looked like had my camera not malfunctioned.

You might wonder why someone who lives in the beach town of Konyaalti would go on a beach vacation, and you'd have a point. But there are some real differences. Konyaalti beach is beautiful, but it's still a city beach. You have to cross a 4-lane highway to get there unless you are staying at a hotel with an underground passage. Meeting someone at Baki Beach #1 would require a dolmus from the #17 near me, and beyond Baki beach (which extends to #24) is Beach Park. All in all, Konyalti beach from Liman to Ataturk Park is about 4 miles long, whereas walking from one end of Adrasan's beach to the other takes about five minutes. Unlike Konyaalti's stone beach, you can actually walk on the sand beach in Adrasan. And since nobody lives in Adrasan, until school is out the only visitors are weekenders. From Monday through Thursday Adrasan has a desert island feel; I kept expecting to find Gilligan in one of the hammocks.

This photo of Adrasan is courtesy of TripAdvisor . It looked like this except that we were the only ones there.

Adrasan also has teahouses with seating built right on the water. I've never seen that anywhere else. One thing that didn't change though was the way men treated us. We were invited to have tea at one of these places, and before we knew it the owner was sitting with us, telling us how he has no interest in the young Turkish girls want to marry him for his money, and how he wants someone his own (i.e. our) age. By the time we left he was taking about marrying Gaby.

The next day we took a boat trip. We were hoping to go to Olympos, as Gaby did in previous years, but apparently day boats are no longer allowed to dock there. It's become too crowded. So we stopped at a couple of coves that made Adrasan look like a booming metropolis. One of these was called Porto Genovese, and I'm still trying to find out why. But I do now understand why this area is called the Turquoise coast, since the water really was that color.

While anchored at Porto Genovese we had a delicious lunch of fresh grilled fish, salad, and spaghetti. After a swim we had tea and watermelon. On the way back, Gaby decided she wanted to dance to the Turkish music playing, so we did. This brought on more undesired attention, giving Gaby another opportunity to use her favorite word,"yok" when her phone number was requested. I've told Gaby that if she continues to smile at men and dance with them she'll keep getting these offers, but she says she doesn't want to change her personality. I get the same response from my other German friend when I suggest he stop getting upset about Turkish driving. I don't think I'm "changing my personality" when I don't respond with a smile to a man looking at me, or look both ways when I cross the street even when I have the light. I call it adapting to my environment.

On our last day, in addition to swimming in the calm waters and walking on the sandy beach, we found a restaurant run by an aging hippie and a bar at which we danced with the owner and the 13 year-olds who worked for him. He later took us to Olympos, where we were the only occupants of an empty disco. When we got back to Adrasan I went to sleep in the cabin and Gaby went to sleep at the beach.

Chill House Lounge, where the hippie made me great salad. (photo from Trip Advisor)

After checking out of our Bungalow and going for a final swim we went back to the bar to say goodbye. The owner convinced Gaby to stay another day. Since he'd taken no for an answer the night before on the beach, she figured, why not? Well, when she left the following day he demanded payment for all the drinks he'd "offered" her. He had of course been expecting some kind of payment in return.

Yes, Adrasan is a paradise. But there's a reason Gilligan wanted to be rescued. I was glad to get back to my home in Konyaalti, to yoga at the beach and movie night at Cenk's. One can only do absolutely nothing for so long.

This photo of Adrasan is courtesy of TripAdvisor

A Perfect Day in Antalya

2011-06-17T14:12:00.006+03:00

Although not by nature an early riser, I've been finding myself waking earlier since the weather got so warm. I sleep with the windows open and hear the birds chirping at sunrise. One day I even woke before sunrise and got to watch it from my balcony.

Sunrise from my balcony.

So when Irina called and said she was giving an 8:00 AM yoga class on the beach I thought, "yeah, I can do that". It was unbelievable. One of the restaurants at Baki beach with an outdoor platform and a canvas roof moved their tables aside to make room for us. We were protected from the sun overhead but still in open air looking right at the Mediterranean in front of us. They put Irina's yoga CD on their system, and I felt like I was at one of those expensive yoga retreats. But here, it's just part of daily life.

After class we celebrated a birthday with champagne and chocolates Irina had brought back from her recent trip back to Russia. We called this our Ayurvedic breakfast. This was followed by a group swim in the refreshing waves.

Konyaalti's Baki Beach at 8:00 AM

I then walked over to Gaby's apartment, where we had a proper breakfast (cheese, olives, and her homemade strawberry marmalade) on her balcony, overlooking her garden full of fragrant gardenias and sprawling bouganvillas, with the sea and the mountains in view.

Typical Antalya flora.

Later Gaby and I went into town for dinner and music in Kaleici, and I picked up a few souvenirs gifts to be distributed on my summer trip back to the States, and I took some photos. Every time I go downtown I find a new subject.

Kaleici Kedi (cat)

Party time! Excellent! Antalya's Expat Social Scene

2011-06-08T09:57:00.002+03:00

One of the nice things about being an expat here is that you're automatically added to so many guest lists. Like much of networking, this is accomplished via the internet. Facebook makes it easy; once you've friended your fellow expat you are notified when she publishes an event. The "official" expat site, Antalyacentral.com, also has a Facebook page where you can check on events. For the Facebook- avoiders, the expat site enables posting invitations and sending private messages.

The expat website was how I first connected with most of these people. Pat was having a barbeque, everyone was invited, and I went. (I wrote about this Halloween drive through a graveyard in The Expat Community in November. Pat's parties are among my favorite events here. It's a nice change from Antalya to spend the day in a small village with expansive views.

Views from Pat's place.

I also love the variety of nationalities represented. Here's a list of what I remember:
American, Australian, Canadian, Dutch, French, German, English (don't call them British), Irish, New Zealand(ers? They call themselves Kiwis but I doubt that's official), Polish (they were vacationers just passing through), Russian, Scottish, South African and of course Turkish. There's also a wide age range, from two to seventy-eight.

The music was equally varied. During cocktail and dinner Cenk was on the roof playing saxophone along with some kind of music-minus-one recording. It set just the right tone for a summer garden party. Later, the roof became a disco as a computerized DJ came up with random tunes like "Who let the dogs out", to which we all danced and barked.

Later in the evening we were treated to a performance of Turk Sanat Muzici (Turkish Classical Music) performed on kanun (zither) and oud (strummed string instrument). There was also a singer, but all the Turks sang along.

Listening to music at Pat's house.

Pat also ~~has~~ had a lovely treehouse, but it started to fall apart. Several of us were sitting at the dinner table in the treehouse when a floorboard gave way and a guest fell through, landing in a wheelbarrow. She wasn't seriously hurt, but the treehouse is now closed for renovation.

Pat's treehouse, shortly before the accident.

Other recent parties include birthday celebrations for Aysun and Bila at Ruud Bar (conveniently located in my neighborhood) and for Bill at his house downtown. At Ruud Bar we danced to old Beatle recordings and relaxed in Leyla and Cenk's garden around the corner. At Carol and Bill's we celebrated not only his birthday, but their one-year anniversary of living here. We ate some of the best food I've had in Antalya, a mixed grill (steak, kofte, chicken) and various vegetable dishes and deserts made by guests. I wish I'd brought a camera to take a photo of that table of food. It was really quite impressive.

This was a more sedate party, without dancing. Then again, I had to leave at 10:45 to catch the last dolmus back to Konyaalti. Who knows what went on after that?

The Great Outdoors: Antalya al fresco

2011-06-03T15:40:00.001+03:00

It's that time of year in which almost all activities are moved outside. I'm even teaching my Russian kids at a cafe in the park. Irina has rented a new teaching space, but the furniture hadn't arrived by the time she left to spend two weeks in Moscow, so we planned on using the cafe temporarily. But the students' mothers and I all prefer to remain at the cafe (where we can get a huge Turkish breakfast for 6 TL), so until Irina gets back and makes the command decision for us to move (or until we can no longer survive without air-conditioning) we'll stay where we are.

Irina also held her yoga class out here one day. It was perfect weather, a beautiful day before the heat and humidity set in. She also took me to a picnic with her Russian friends at a beautiful spot in the woods overlooking the sea.

My book club also moved outdoors, holding it's monthly meeting at the teahouse in Karalioglu Park. I picked up several titles for beach reading, including a thriller by Nikki French (a husband and wife writing team). I'd never heard of Nikki French, but apparently her (?) books are very popular in the UK. I can see why; it certainly was a page-turner. Now I'm reading White Oleander, which I had heard of (hard to miss an Oprah pick that's been made into a film) , but I'd never seen the film and knew nothing about the book other than it's good recommendations. So far I'm enjoying it.

Karalioglu Park

Ayyas, our Wednesday evening bar, has now moved all its tables and chairs outside. This not only makes moving around easier, but also allows the dogs to visit. I hadn't seen Buddy (the chocolate lab/golden retriever mix) in a while and was happy to get a doggie hug.

Thursday evenings' Movie Night at Cenkay and Leyla's house has moved to their beautiful garden. Of course, having spent the day at the beach, I was tired at 10:00 and continually dozed off during Snatch, which I think was about a diamond theft. All I really remember is a lot of violence and Brad Pitt with some kind of British accent.

In June the classical music events also move outdoors, to the Aspendos amphitheater. The last concert I saw at Ataturk Kultur Merkezi was a surprise. The program had been advertised only as Vocalize, a group including three tenors, one baritone, and one bass. I was expecting something like Chanticleer, but what I got was a cross between Lawrence Welk and the Wiggles. Imagine, if you can, five Turkish men singing a medley of Michael Jackson songs accompanied by a symphony orchestra. You couldn't have a cheesier experience in a fondue restaurant. But it was fun, and definitely something different.

Life among the Ruins: Aspendos, Perge and Side

2011-05-29T13:22:00.002+03:00

Perge

Before I moved to Turkey I hadn't given much thought to ancient Greek and Roman ruins. I knew about Epheses and Troy of course, but I didn't realize just how many of these ancient sites were in Turkey. In the area where I live, there are several ancient attractions within an hour's drive.

The most impressive of these is the amphitheater at Aspendos, built around 1,000 b.c. and still in use today for opera performances. One of the best preserved ancient theaters in the world, it seats 7,000; almost twice as many as my home theater, the Metropolitan Opera. I've seen a few ancient theaters, but this is the only one I've seen with the stage and back stage area intact. I could actually walk through what must have been the dressing rooms. (They were smaller than those at the Met, as this theater pre-dates by centuries the age of the diva.) We were lucky to have visited on a beautiful day in April which allowed me to take photos that look like postcards. There were a few tour groups there, but nothing like what it will be like in the summer.

My post-card shot of Aspendos.

Not far from Aspendos is Perge. Originally a Hellenistic settlement during the time of Alexander the Great, Perge became a Roman Imperial city, the outlines of which can be seen today. There's the Agora, surrounding shops, and a boulevard lined with columns. Of course, you do have to use your imagination to fill in these outlines.

Perge

Another ancient site in this area is Side, also about an hour's drive from Antalya (by car), but a longer trip by bus. I went for the day with my friend Gaby, who lived in Side for a year before moving to my neighborhood in Konyaalti. Side is a popular tourist destination because it combines ancient ruins with a sandy beach. The beach in Konyaalti is actually more beautiful, but it's made of rocks and is less comfortable for walking.

Side

One advantage of Side being more touristy than Konyaalit was the availability of actual coffee. Several beachside bars had signs for Illy or Lavazza, whereas Baki Beach offers only the dreaded Nescafe.

Side

We even found an Italian restaurant that served prosciutto and melon with actual prosciutto! Prosciutto, being a pork product, is hard to find in Turkey. I haven't seen it on any menu in Antalya.

Side also has a picturesque harbor.

Actually, I don't have to travel further than my local bus stop to see Roman ruins. There's the remains of a bath that I pass by almost every day.

Roman baths in Gursu, Konyaalti, Antalya.

Besides, why travel at all when I live in the city Ataturk described as "undoubtedly the most beautiful place in the world"?

Antalya's harbor

Travels with my Parents: Eating in Antalya

2011-05-22T16:31:00.004+03:00

Although we did see a lot in the three weeks my parents were in Turkey, much of our time was spent either eating or planning to eat. There were a few well-known restaurants we wanted to try, several local places we frequented, and a couple of home-cooked meals.

My parents' favorite restaurant was Seraser, an elegant establishment in a beautiful building furnished in an old-world style that seems a bit out of place in the otherwise casual Kaleici. The service differs markedly from most local restaurants, in that they bring everyone's meal at the same time, and don't hover nearby waiting to snatch a plate away the instant a fork spears the last piece of food on it. Seraser is coninental cuisine: Duck, quail, and rib-eye were on the menu and there was an almost unheard of absence of kabobs. Many other restaurants here also have lamb chops, but they are thin and usually overcooked. The rack of lamb at Seraser was the real thing; thick chops served rare. In fact, mine were so rare I had to send them back to be cooked longer.

Another restaurant on many lists is 7 Mehmet. a classy modern setting serving traditional grilled meats and various mezes. Everything was good, and prices were not much higher than neighborhood places serving similar fare. We also went to one of my favorite places near me, Mangal, and had grilled meat and chicken there. Mangal is very informal, but the meat is just as good. At Mangal there's no mixed grill on the menu, just steak, kebabs, and chicken ordered by weight.

Lara Balik Evi is the best fish restaurant in town. The Konyaalti branch is very close to the hotel where my parents were staying. It's a simple and elegant setting like 7 Mehmet. The waiters come around with mezes to choose from, and then you go pick out your fish. I always have barbunya, the small red fish which are lightly fried and taste amazingly sweet. The grilled cipura and levrek are also good, but those are competently prepared at the Baki Beach restaurants where I often end up. The only other thing edible at those restaurants is french fries. (Baki Beach is an unfortunate situation in which 20+ restaurants are owned by the same company and have identical menus. Some are a bit better than others in preparation, service, music, or decor, but they are essentially the same.)

Another restaurant known for fish is Alara, but we went for lunch to enjoy the view. The fried calamari was the best we'd had, but the rest of lunch was unremarkable.

View from Alara restaurant.

Of course we didn't "dine" at every meal. When my parents came over to do laundry we ordered pizza from Bruno, a place near me run by Germans. The pizza tastes better when you eat it in the restaurant, but sometimes it's nice to have it delivered. It was also a good thing we did laundry together, since my mother was the one who discovered I'd been using detergent intended only for whites on all my clothes. That explains the white blotches I have on so many of my garments. The strange thing is, my clothes were fine until a month or so ago. For almost a year nothing happened to my colored wash. In any case, I now have the correct detergent. It's easy to see how I made the mistake though. When I went to the store where I buy cleaning supplies I couldn't find any liquid detergent for colored wash. I asked a woman to help me, and she looked around and said there wasn't any. She recommended another market nearby. It had never occurred to me that a store that carried laundry detergent would have such a limited selection.

At the end of laundry day we decided to try another place near my apartment. We ended up at Istanbul Kanatci, which specializes in chicken wings. It was a chilly day, and Dad asked about soup. They didn't have any available, but offered to whip up some chicken soup for him. We ate very respectable lamb kabobs, excellent fries, and delicious fresh bread. My parents also learned the meaning of "Bay " and "Bayan" so as not to make any more rest room faux pas.

After tea we said goodnight and headed out to look for a taxi box. (There are little yellow boxes attached to poles every block or so. You push a button and a taxi comes in about a minute. Too bad we don't have these in NY, but I'm sure it's because kids would press the buttons and run away.) The owner of the restaurant came out and asked where we were going, and then said his friend would drive us home. That's the kind of service you only get in neighborhood restaurants unfrequented by tourists.

Speaking of non-touristy eating experiences, we were treated to some home-made pastries by the Russian mothers of my students. They wanted to do something special to welcome my parents. Although Irina, the teacher who hired me, was the only English speaker of the group, my parents managed to communicate with everyone. My mom was especially good with the kids, prompting Katya to ask whether my mom was a teacher.

The other home-cooked meal was at Fadime's house, where I had lived for my first month in Antalya with my teacher Mehtap, Fadime's daughter. It was great for me to see them again, and good for my parents to eat a healthy meal of vegetables after all those kebaps. Fadime made exactly the meal I expected: Mercimek corbasi (lentil soup), salad and dolma (zucchini, peppers and eggplants stuffed with rice). She also surprised me with a chocolate pudding for dessert. Also in attendance were two of Mehtap's students, one of whom is currently living with Fadime. It was a fun evening.

It's a testament to the healthy cuisine of Antalya that my parents didn't gain any weight on this vacation during which they ate out three times a day. My mom felt so well here that when she got home she continued to eat tomatoes and cucumbers as part of her breakfast. Can replacing coffee with tea be far behind?

Travels with my Parents: Introduction to Antalya

2011-05-15T22:08:00.002+03:00

My parents arrived on a Thursday evening, so the next day was full with the usual Friday events. First we met at Karmen cafe for breakfast. Breakfast (Kahvalta) is a big deal in Turkey. A typical Turkish breakfast includes cheese, salami, tomatoes, olives, jam, bread and an egg. At Karmen they also add sigara boregi (cigarette rolls, long thin fried pastry with cheese) and delicious home-made french fries. They also serve the best tea around. But Karmen is really a superb pastry shop, and after breakfast that's all you can get there. You'd think that since they have eggs, cheese and fries they could make you an omelette or a sandwich for lunch. But no, after Kahvahti you are *forced* to eat their delicious cookies, cakes or pastries. Oh well.

After breakfast we walked to the Friday pazaar a few blocks away. I showed my mom all the fresh produce, including giant-sized oranges, artichokes and cauliflower. Dad was bored. He doesn't like shopping at home, so there was really no reason to expect him to like it here. On the way back to my apartment we stopped for a tea break at Nur, one of a chain of pastry shops. Their simits (sort of a sesame bagel ) are amazing, especially when I get them as they're coming out of the oven, but their tea isn't as good as Karmen's.

The Friday Pazaar

Back at my apartment, my parents took a nap before the evening activity of attending Antalya's weekly Symphony concert. It was an interesting concert consisting of various instrumental concertos. My favorite was the Trombone Concerto by Derek Bourgeois. I'd never heard a virtuoso classical trombone before, so that was fun. At intermission my parents met several of my friends, some of whom they would see again at the book club and Ayyas bar.

Otantik restaurant and wine bar.

The book club, at Carol's house, is downtown. So we spent the early part of the day in Kaleici, and had a nice lunch at Otantik. I love Otantik for both the food and the setting. We ate in the courtyard and all had the daily menu of grilled chicken. Daily menus at Otantik include soup, salad, pilav or noodles and desert (in this case, carrot cake). Everything is of the best quality, and the whole lunch costs 9.5 TL (about 6 dollars). We also had Turkish coffee, served in elegant cups and saucers with giant covers. The coffee came with the traditional glass of water and Turkish Delight, as well as the not-so-traditional Amaretto. I think that was just because I'm a regular and bring people there.

After lunch we strolled through Karalioglu Park to get to Carol's. At the book club Dad did my homework. I hadn't read anything I could share (everything was on my kindle) so Dad talked about the book I'd ordered from Amazon for my parents to bring to me. Portrait of a Turkish Family is a novel written as a memoir of a man whose family lost everything after the fall of the Ottoman Empire. It got great reviews on the internet, but my dad said it was depressing. I'll read it eventually.

Karalioglu Park

My parents enjoyed the book club, not only because everyone (except me) had an interesting book to talk about (my mom even took notes!) but also because Carol made real coffee. Not that Turkish coffee isn't real (it's like espresso), but if you want a regular coffee what you get here is Nescafe instant. I keep telling people that Nescafe is not actually coffee, and that it doesn't take any more time to pour hot water through a drip filter than it does to pour it into a cup with instant coffee in it, but I don't seem to be making much progress on that issue.

After the book club we took a dolmus (minibus) home, prompting my father to decree that from now on we'll be taking cabs everywhere.

Cappadocia Part 3: The Accidental Tour Guide

2011-05-10T17:20:00.002+03:00

We started the day with a stroll around beautiful downtown Urgup. It's a small village like many others in Kapadokya, but its whimsical clock tower is unique.

In case you forgot, this is the reference:

The "fairy chimney" on the right is the look the clock tower was going for. I think it was pretty clever.

There isn't much else to see downtown, so we decided to take a cab to Mustafapasa, another village only 6 kilometers away. The cabdriver offered to give us a tour rather than drop us off, so we could see more and walk less. Unlike Sagit, the professional tour guide, Mehmet spoke only minimal English. So I sat up front and translated the explanations to my parents.

Mustafapasa had been a Greek village, and was deserted in 1923 when Greeks living in Turkey and Turks living in Greece were relocated. The fascinating novel "Birds without Wings" tells the story of a town like this. Turks and Greeks had been living peacefully as neighbors for centuries, but their Governments forced them to separate and fight each other. I read the novel before I had even thought of moving to Turkey, and I'd like to reread it now.

Mehmet also showed us where he was born and grew up without electricity, heat or indoor plumbing. The area has certainly changed a lot in the last 50 years. It's hard to believe they've gone from no electricity to internet and satellite TV in that short time.

Saz

Mehmet also showed us where he'd played saz the night before. ( The saz is a plucked stringed instrument.) It was a beautifully restored Ottoman house used as a hotel.

There are remants of several old churches in this area, some of which are mostly intact. There are also Roman ruins, including a bath with some mosaics.

The best preserved church.

Some of the cave-churches required a bit of a climb:

Sometimes the climb was rewarded with a frescoed wall or ceiling:

But to be honest, after a while the caves all look alike. Mehmet was determined to show us all the church ruins in the area, including another Snake Church with a Fresco of St. George and something called "Church of the Buckle". I still haven't figured out what they were going for with that translation, and I forgot what was written in Turkish. If anyone has an explanation, please leave a comment.

A cave.

After all this walking (and climbing) we were tired when we got back to the hotel, but after a couple of hours' rest we were ready to go back into town for dinner. We went to the front desk to request a taxi, but Mehmet was already there. (It's a small town, so there are maybe half a dozen cab drivers .) When we got to the restaurant Mehmet wouldn't take any money for the cab ride, since he was driving back anyway. How's that for scrupulous honesty? And there are people who think everyone here is just looking for an opportunity to take advantage of foreigners. It's true there's a lot of that in Antalya in the tourist areas, but many of those people came to Antalya specifically for that purpose. Here, although the area is a major tourist attraction, the people who live here were born here and are proud of their home towns.

Back in Antalya the cab driver from the airport struck up a conversation, and I guess my guard was down after the good experience in Kapadokya, but he soon got to "You can teach me English and I'll teach you Turkish". Even worse, he kept asking me where I lived as we approached my parents' hotel. Fortunately I was having dinner at the hotel so he didn't get the opportunity to drive me home.

Alas, no more fairy chimneys and smarm-free cab drivers. Back to reality in Antalya. Which is still not a bad deal:

Baki Beach, in my neighborhood.

Cappadocia Part 2: Up Up and Away

2011-05-06T12:49:00.002+03:00

Mom and I somehow managed to wake up in time to be picked up at 5:20 AM. We were taken to a field where tea, coffee (well, nescafe) and pastries were offered. This helped us wake up a bit, and then it was time to watch the balloons being inflated (memories of the night before Thanksgiving in New York and preparations for the Macy's Parade).

There were many different colored balloons, as each company has its own design.

The passenger area of the balloon is a basket divided into four sections. When it was time to get into the balloon, everyone except Mom and me rushed to the front, By the time it was our turn to climb in, there was no room. The space was designed to hold four people per quadrant, but three large people filled the sections mom and I were supposed to join. No matter, we were forced in among the over-sized Australians. At least I didn't have to worry about being cold, or falling down. I was well insulated and couldn't move.

This restricted my picture taking a bit, but I still got a few good shots.

I couldn't even feel the balloon moving; it was more like a gentle floating. The only distraction was the sound of releasing the hot air (which looked like fire) into the balloon every so often. That was quite loud, and for those who got into the balloon first and were near the center, quite warm.

After the ride, we got back to our hotel at 8:30 AM. I think this is the only time in my life the major activity of the day was completed by that hour. Anyway, we went to breakfast and enjoyed the usual cheese, tomatoes, cucumbers, olives, bread, eggs and tea. "Coffee" is available, but it's actually instant coffee, known here as Nescafe. A year ago a said I couldn't imagine ever knowingly ordering an instant coffee, but by now I've actually done it a few times. At a cafe or decent restaurant I always opt for the Turkish coffee, which is similar to expresso (except for the grounds at the bottom of the cup).

After breakfast, we relaxed on our balconies and read until lunch. So it was just like visiting my parents at home. Since we had no other activities planned, we decided to go into town for lunch. Town is not a long walk from our hotel but it's a steep one on uneven rocks, so we took a cab. We walked around the town square a bit and ate at a simple kebap house. We were surprised to find all sorts of credit cards pictured on the door and inside, but I was not surprised that the restaurant didn't accept any of them. False advertising is not really an issue here. There's no point asking for an explanation of these discrepancies; all you'll get is a shrug. The restaurant wasn't expensive, so it was no big deal. For my parents it was amusing in the way the hotel technician in Antalya amused them when he fixed their air-conditioning by opening a window.

Travels with my Parents : Cappadocia Part 1: Fairy Chimneys

2011-05-02T13:01:00.006+03:00

My parents recently visited for three weeks. They stayed in a hotel at the beach here in Konyaalti which was in walking distance (for me) from my apartment. We did so much in three weeks that I'm going to need multiple posts. I'll need one just to cover all our meals. But let's start with Kapadokya.

The hotel.

We arrived at the beautiful Elkep Evi hotel at 5:30, tired from the day of travel. Antalya and Kayseri are only an hour apart by direct flight, but alas there are no direct flights until June. So we had to fly to Istanbul, also an hour away, and change there for the one hour flight to Kayseri. When you add up the drive to the airport, the time between flights and the one hour van ride from Kayseri to Urgup you have a full day.

Another view of the hotel.

So we decided to relax in our rooms and then have dinner in the hotel. The room originally meant for my parents was up two flights of stone stairs, so we switched, and I got the room with the jacuzzi! This was a real treat for me because my apartment (like most Turkish apartments) has no bathtubs. Even the famous “Turkish Baths” have no actual baths. At a hamam you are scrubbed, massaged, and doused with water. No baths whatsoever. But I digress.

My balcony.

The rooms at Elkep Evi were all individually furnished with rugs, ceramics, and wall hangings from Kapadokya. They were all built into the surrounding caves, and all had giant balconies equipped with day beds. There were no televisions, but there were CD players we couldn't figure out how to work, and an odd assortment of CDs (including Carmina Burana and Edith Piaf). I took a bath and went to bed early.

The next day our guide, Sagit, showed up promptly at 9:00 and we began our tour of the area with the curious rock formations known here as "fairy chimneys". They are formed over millions of years from volcanic ash and water. You can see all stages of their development: The semi-attached fat chimneys are younger than the separate thin ones.

Some of them resemble other things. There's a rock that looks like a camel, one like Napoleon's hat, and here's Bugs Bunny:

Sagit was very knowledgeable and explained the geology as well as pointing out these specific sights. He also learned our names immediately, although he soon took to calling me "honey". I laughed to myself all day as he flirted with me in the way I'm now quite used to. They all have the same m. o. Did you know all Turkish men are expert masseurs? Yeah, me neither.

We had a delicious lunch of pide (like a very thin crust pizza with ground meat or cheese) at a lovely spot overlooking a river, then drove on to Avanos to see the ceramics. We had a private demonstration, and I was offered the chance to try the potter's wheel myself. The tour continued, after Turkish coffee, to watch the artists at work, one drawing the intricate designs and another painting the multi-colored glaze. Onumlu Ceramics is a family business operating since 1870, and their family design is quite spectacular. Of course, since these hand-made plates and vases take a long time to make, they are very expensive pieces of pottery. When we were told "don't worry about the price, just pick out what you like and we'll make you a good price" I knew we were in trouble. But we now have very beautiful, if expensive, souvenirs of our trip.

After a bit more driving, with stunning views at every turn, we went to the Goreme open air museum. This museum is the remains of a nunnery and monastery (with an underground tunnel between them, of course), including several churches with frescos from the 10th-12th centuries. Christians built their living quarters into the caves so as not to be discovered. One of the churches is translated in English as "Church of the Snake". That seemed odd to me, as I thought the snake was the bad guy in the bible. Turns out the church is so named because of the fresco of St. George slaying the dragon. The Turkish word "yilan" means both snake and dragon, and someone chose the wrong one. I have a feeling a lot of those same kind of mistakes were made translating the bible from ancient to modern languages.

Goreme

They make a big deal of the frescos here, but if you want to see frescos you really should go to Italy. Sure, the Goreme frescos are old and in caves, but from an artistic standpoint they're not masterpieces. They're also not in very good condition.

More impressive than Goreme's museum was the view of the town from the vantage point of Uchisar:

While at Uchisar I wandered off and bought a little nazar (evil eye) necklace. These blue eyes are everywhere, and I figured it was time to have one. I spoke a bit with the guy selling them, and he told me he was born in a cave. "I am cave boy", he said. He also asked me to go out for a drink, but I escaped easily by invoking my parents. Sagit had already asked me whether I had plans for this evening, and I'd told him my plan was to get to sleep early to prepare for the balloon ride.

The next stop was a rug factory where we were shown how single and double knots are made and how the wool is dyed with natural ingredients. We were also shown some award-winning rugs and several selections for us to buy. After our splurge at the ceramic shop a rug purchase was not going to happen.

Our last stop was a winery where we tasted several local reds. Some were quite good, and gave us an idea of what to look for on future wine lists. After a short rest back at the hotel we went into town for a typical kebap dinner and the wine we'd discovered earlier. Then it was time to try to get some sleep before waking up at 5 AM for the balloon ride!

This blog is banned in Turkey!

2011-03-19T14:42:00.005+02:00

No, it's not X-rated. No, I don't insult Mohammed or Ataturk. I'm simply committing the offense of posting on blogspot.
Once again Turkey is taking the baby + bath water approach to internet disputes. Now that we are finally allowed to access Youtube, after a two-year ban (because of some anti-Ataturk videos, I'm told), we now learn that the Turkish government has blocked access to blogspot because of links to live-stream sports events whose distribution rights belong to Digiturk. Why Digiturk cannot simply sue the particular offenders, rather than having the Government block the millions of blogs that have nothing to do with this dispute, is beyond me. But then again, so are many things in Turkey.

However, as was the case with youtube, there are ways to circumvent this via proxy servers. But it's extremely annoying to be unable to navigate from the site, and it's unlikely that people looking for blogs about Turkey are going to go to the trouble of going through a proxy server.

Well, this blog was originally intended for friends and family who wanted to keep up on what the heck I was doing here, and since none of them are in Turkey this function won't be affected.

So, what else is new? Oh yeah, I lost my job. My adult students have decided not to continue their lessons. Whatever. My parents will be here in three weeks, and now I don't have to worry about rescheduling classes.

And I almost got another job right afterwards. Actually, "job" is a bit misleading. One of my cohorts at Ayyas, Dave, had been offered the opportunity to teach two hours a day for six weeks in Kas for room and board and thirty lira (about twenty dollars) a day. They had a group there that was supposed to start the next day. Andy had also gotten a call about this job, and after he declined it the wages were raised to forty lira a day.

Dave was looking at it as a "paid vacation" in Kas. Yes, Kas is beautiful, but how may hours a day can you look at the view? The main thing to do in Kas is to take boat trips around the area. It's definitely a summer resort. Kas in March? How is this any more a "vacation" than Konyaalti in March? Dave's idea was that nobody would want to do this for six weeks, but if we divide it among three or four of us, we could work it out. I was game for that. This wasn't really an exciting opportunity, but it was a way to make a connection with another teaching organization, and since I was now unemployed except for my Saturday morning kids' class, it seemed worth a shot.

The next day Dave e-mailed the company and copied me and Andy on it. I got a call later that day (Thursday) requesting me to come down the following day. I said I couldn't leave on such short notice, but that I could leave on Saturday after teaching my class. This was unacceptable. Okay.

Then Dave e-mailed saying he's arranged everything, he would go down the next day, stay a week, and then I would take over for a week, and then he and Andy would alternate. And by the way, they denied telling Andy they would pay forty lira a day. Great. I just love working with people who don't keep their word. But by this time I felt I couldn't leave Dave in the lurch, so I agreed and e-mailed back with the specific dates I would be there. The next day Dave e-mailed from the bus station saying the whole thing was canceled. Apparently that's business as usual here.

So I forgot about it and went to the Symphony concert. It wasn't one of their better nights. I'd been looking forward to the Dvorak cello concerto, but the soloist slid between every note and seemed to have no sense of rhythm. It was almost as if he was trying to throw the conductor off. It was quite a mess, though as far as I could tell I was the only one who noticed.

The second half of the program was better. Night on bald Mountain was fine except for the perpetually out of tune flute section, and the Tchaikovsky Romeo and Juliet was well done and enjoyable.

I then walked across the overpass and waited ten minutes for the dolmus (mini-bus). A large bus stopped in front of me, but it wasn't going my way. Meanwhile, two domuses which would have taken me home drove right by on the other side of the bus. Great. Now I had to wait another fifteen minutes for the next one. I decided instead to walk to Migros and catch one of the many dolmuses that stop there. I also wanted to go upstairs at Migros to use the bankomat, since I was out of cash. Migros is open until eleven because of the movie theaters. Or so I thought. It turns out they are open until eleven to let people out, but they don't let anybody in after ten or ten-thirty (don't know exactly). But I did eventually catch a dolmus home.

I love Antalya in the Springtime!

2011-03-08T12:36:00.004+02:00

During the last week of February it rained every day. I was counting the days until March, when "Winter" would be over. I went out in the rain a few times. I met Ozlem, a woman from Istanbul who lives here and works in internet marketing. We'd found each other on Twitter, and she suggested we meet. She's my first ever Twitter friend! We met at Shakespeare's, which is not too far from me, and ate pasta. She said she might have some work for me editing a website. Although her English is excellent, she'd like a native speaker to look over her written work. Unlike most people I've met here who say they'll call for English lessons, Ozlem followed through a few days later with an assignment.

Ozlem also recommended a show currently playing at the State Theater. Yedi Kadin ( Seven Women) is a musical comedy about women in group therapy. I felt like I was in a time warp, watching a consciousness-raising meeting from the seventies. The music was interesting - a blend of contemporary Broadway and Turkish motifs. Unfortunately, the singing was horrific. These were actresses who obviously had either no vocal training or worse, very bad training. Not one of them could carry a tune, necessitating a doubling of the vocal line by clarinet or piano on every song. It's a shame really. The acting, directing and choreography was fine, and the musical material was interesting. It would be a pleasant evening at the theater if the singer weren't so painful.

Ataturk Caddesi, our Champs Elysees.

On March 1st I woke up to a sunny day and a feeling of Spring. I made it through my first Winter here! Everyone had warned me it was rainy and depressing with nothing to do, so I felt good that I managed to keep busy without the main attraction of beach weather. I hadn't been to the Tuesday tea at Akdim for a while, so I decided it was a good day to go and good weather for walking around downtown and running errands. I needed to refill my bus card and buy an opaque curtain for the guest room where I'll sleep when my parents arrive.

Tuesday tea, including mercimek kofte (lentil balls).

I got to Akdim late and missed the presentation, but ran into one of the women from the book group who'd been absent the last few months while visiting her children in England. After the Akdim tea, she was headed to the downtown Tuesday pazaar, which I'd never known about, so I followed along. The conversation was very edifying. I don't know how we got on the subject of politics, but she went on about how much she disliked Tony Blair, and said that most English people felt the same way, because Blair was "anti-English". Of course I knew the difference between the UK and England, but it had never occurred to me that a Prime Minister of Great Britain could be "anti-English". What my friend seemed to mean by this was that money was unfairly diverted from England to Scotland, Northern Ireland and Wales. Universities in Scotland are free, she said, but in England they are not. Interesting. That's another thing I like about being an ex-pat. I don't just learn about Turkey, I also meet people from other parts of the world who have settled here.

I'd missed my weekly trip to the Friday pazaar because I was unable to motivate myself to go out in the rain. I guess I'm becoming a real Antalyan! Unlike the pazar in my neighborhood, which is in a square space and thus easy to navigate, this one meandered through small streets and was quite confusing. I probably would never have found my way out of this maze if I hadn't run into Nazli. We hadn't seen each other in a while, because she and Mahsun had been busy moving to a new apartment. They'd settled in now, and she invited me back for tea and to show me the new place.

It's quite a nice apartment - very spacious, with a western bathroom in addition to the Turkish one, and only one flight up (their previous apartment was a fourth floor walk-up). They moved here because their old apartment had a leaky ceiling, and the landlord said he'd fix it, but then he'd raise the rent. They couldn't possibly pay more ( they were already paying half Mahsun's salary on rent), so they found this place. It costs less because the location is less desirable. Their old place was right off Ataturk Caddesi across from Hadrian's Gate, the entrance to Kaleici. Now they're out of the tourist center, not far from where they were, but with a very different feel. Next time I'm there I'll bring my camera.

A neighbor came by and joined us. Like Nazli, she was from Eastern Turkey and was "covered". She asked why I wasn't married, and tried to convince me that marriage was nice. I tried to explain I had nothing against the practice, just hadn't had the opportunity. I was pleased to hear Nazli explaining that my situation wasn't that unusual in the United States ( in other words, I'm not a weirdo). I got the impression from looking out the windows that the area was a bit of a Kurdish ghetto. "Career women" are pretty much unheard of in that culture.

I stayed until I could not longer stand Sude's screaming. Sude is the poster child for the terrible twos. She has a pet rabbit, and I was afraid she was squeezing it so hard she would kill it. I think she's too young to differentiate between stuffed and live animals.

The main shopping street before it was torn up.

On the way home I stopped at the main street to run my errands. The charming cobblestone pedestrian center was completely torn up. I don't know whether they were repairing water pipes, electric lights or what, but the street was completely gone and we were all walking on dirt. I remember this happening in a different part of town last March. They like to get all their work done before the tourists arrive. There's also something going on in my apartment's outdoor area, with walkways being torn up.

On Saturday afternoon I was invited, through my German group, to the opening of an exhibit at the Kaleici Museum. The exhibit was a collection of political cartoons from France and Germany from the 16th through 20 centuries. The exhibit came from Ankara, where it had been created with the support of the French and German embassies. We were all given substantial guidebooks, with color reproductions and explanations in German, French and Turkish. I ran into Fritz there, and he introduced me to the German Consul.

Exhibition opening at Kaleici Museum.

Afterwards, I went for a drink with Matthias, Helena and two of Helena's German students to an outdoor bar that looked like a beer garden. It was a perfect spring day. Later Matthias and I went for dinner at Seraser, where I'd eaten with the Antalya Women's Group. I'd found the place rather pretentious and overpriced, but Helena said she thought it was the best restaurant in Antalya, and Matthias had never been there. The group dinner had been around Christmas and the meal was roast Turkey, which wasn't one of their regular menu offerings, so I thought this time would be a more representative experience.

There's no question Seraser is very elegant, and is the only restaurant we've been to where we were served at the same time. I decided to test the kitchen by ordering the grilled ribeye. It was edible, but didn't change my feeling that American cuts of meat can only be prepared properly in America. Matthias had the filet, which seems to be the standard cut here. I probably should have stuck with the more continental offerings, like duck confit or stuffed quail.

Sunday was the book group meeting. We hadn't met since January, because so many were traveling in February, so I felt I had to go. Ordinarily I want to, but Sunday was a rainy mess, and there's no way to get to Carol's place without quite a bit of walking. I was soaked by the time I got there, but not as badly as poor Buddy, who was waiting outside the door. He hasn't accepted that dogs are generally not allowed indoors here. Actually, Carol would have let him in, but Bill is allergic to dogs. Wednesday at Ayyas Buddy was so persistent we eventually hid him under our table.

The view on the way to Carol's apartment.

After book group it was still pouring, so I came straight home. I guess I spoke too soon about the end of Winter...

A Week in the Life: Expat in Antalya

2011-02-24T11:18:00.006+02:00

My last entry described the activities available on each day of the week. This post is a re-cap of what I actually did this week.

On Monday I was awakened by the sound of construction. I suppose I'll get used to it someday and sleep through it. It's not as loud as the call to prayer was in my bedroom in Sarampol, and I eventually slept through that.

I taught Gokhan and Turgay from 6:00 to 8:00. Turgay had recently been to Saklikent, the ski resort Matthias and I had been looking for, so I got directions from him. Then we discussed Valentine's Day. Turgay said he bought his wife boots. I asked how he knew they would fit, and he said "That's why we went shopping together." In the previous class I'd taught them how to use phrases like "that's why", as well as "because". I then asked Gokhan what he gave his wife, and he said "nothing". He explained that he doesn't believe in these commercialized holidays. Okay, but what does your wife think? Maybe she expects a gift. "No, she doesn't expect. All she wants is my love." We all had a good laugh at that.

During my explanation of this week's language point (how to use "although" "however" "nevertheless" and "in spite of") my phone rang. I ignored it (it would never occur to me to answer a phone during class, although Gokhan does it all the time) but they both told me to answer it. It was Matthias, who had survived a stressful day at work and wanted to go to dinner. I reminded him I was teaching a class, and he said he'd pick me up after class. Gokhan and Turgay wanted to know if he was my boyfriend. This gave me the perfect transition back to our subject: No, although we see each other often, we are not dating.

The terrace at Big Man.

We ended up at a restaurant called Big Man (?) at the beachpark. It's a casual restaurant, but there was a violinist playing (poorly) and the Maitre D' asked if we had reservations. We didn't. I figured it must be busy because of Valentine's Day. This was news to Matthias, of course. (What single guy pays attention to Valentine's Day?) In any case, we got a table and had a nice meal. The menu included standard international cuisine. I took a chance on the grilled salmon, something I ate often in New York, but hadn't had since I've been here. It was good, but it's funny how my diet is so different here and yet I don't really miss the food at home (with the exception of hamburgers and Chinese food).

The view from Big Man's terrace.

On Tuesday my friend Refika dropped by. She's a Turkish woman who lives in my building and speaks German. I became friendly with Refika back in September when her daughter Denise came to visit. Denise is an artist who grew up in Germany and lives in Munich. I met Denise and Refika in the elevator of my building. It's customary here to say good day or good evening when departing, even if no conversation has preceded it. Since Refika and Denise had been speaking German, I said "Shoenen Tag noch" instead of "iyi gunler". They asked if I was German, and we started talking. We discovered we had a lot in common (opera singer, painter etc.) and they invited me to come for tea later that day.

Refika and Denise introduced me to the Turkish game of "OK", which is played with tiles numbered like playing cards that have to be matched by the same number in different colors or by consecutive numbers in the same color. Kind of like poker, but you keep playing until someone has all her tiles matched up. I've since noticed that this is the game played in those men-only tea houses I see everywhere.

We spent several days at the beach, and Denise invited me to visit her. I wanted to go, but I just couldn't drag myself away from the beautiful weather here in November, and by January I was working. We keep in touch via Facebook and Skype, and are hoping to meet up this summer in Hungary, where her father lives.

Wednesday was a beautiful day, so I did some out-door errands including paying my bills. I pay my electric, water, internet and cable TV bills at a local bill-paying-center. (Theoretically I should be able to pay these bills directly through my bank, but because the electricity and water are in my landlord's name, this is problematic. ) I walked to the beach by way of one of the many parks with exercise equipment, did a bit of stretching on the contraptions, and pet a dog who needed his tummy rubbed.

In the evening I went to Ayyas. ( "Ayyas" means "drunk", which makes this meyhane one of the few aptly named drinking establishments here.) I'd invited the Turkish law professor I'd met at last week's German event, and she e-mailed that she'd try to be at Ayyas at 7:00. Since she didn't know any of the other people coming, I made sure I was there early. I'd interpreted her message to mean that she would try to arrive around 7 but might be late. Needless to say, she never showed up. I guess what she meant was "I'm not coming but I don't want to say that so I'm saying I'll try to be there". I'm assuming this because if she'd actually meant to say she was coming I would have expected a follow up e-mail with an explanation. Then again, I'm not Turkish, so what do I know. There were some nice stuffed peppers, and I got to see Buddy (the chocolate lab) and many of my friends, so I was glad to be there anyway.

On the way to Ayyas.

On Thursday I once again walked to the gym hoping for belly dance class, which once again was canceled. I tried to make up for the lack of aerobic exercise by spending some time on the stationary bicycle. When I got home I called my friend Tatiana, who'd recently returned from a month visiting her family in Mexico. We made plans to meet the following day. I went to teach my 6:00 class, but when I got there Faruk (my boss) looked at me sheepishly and asked if I'd gotten the message that class was canceled. Of course I hadn't. This made the third time class was canceled and I hadn't been told in time to avoid the trip into town. The last two times the students canceled at the last minute. This time, Faruk tried to call me and left a message. But there was no message. He checked his phone and discovered he'd sent the text to another teacher. So he drove me home and I watched my Turkish soap and skyped a friend back home.

Ayyas.

On Friday it was sunny in the morning, so I had breakfast on the balcony. Tatiana called and said she'd pick me up at 3:00, so I had time to go to the pazaar. It was a good day in the 5 Lira bin: I picked up two pairs of velour stretch pants, a Tommy Hilfiger button down shirt, and a sheer Dolce & Gabbana blouse. ( Of course I almost didn't by the blouse, because it was Extra Large. Not that it was too big for me; I just didn't like the idea. In what world is a size 6 an extra large? I guess in the world of men who design for anorexics. No wonder I never buy designer clothes. Okay, rant over.)

I also bought more Kale, my new favorite “green and leafy” thing. And fresh pumpkin! I love pumpkin, and missed having pumpkin pie on thanksgiving. They sell it here in bags of large chunks. I asked how to cook it and was told to bake it. I used to make pumpkin pie at home with canned pumpkin. Turns out you can just throw the chunks in the oven and an hour later they're as soft as the stuff in the can. Who knew?

When I got home Tatiana called and said her errands are taking longer, so we rescheduled for Saturday. I prepared a simple but tasty meal with fresh pasta and kale, and then headed for the Symphony concert. I was very glad I did. they played Rachmaninoff's 2d piano concerto and Tchaikovsky's Symphony # 4. The orchestra sounded terrific on both pieces. While their performances of Mozart and Beethoven a couple of weeks ago were competent, they seem to have better feel for this more romantic, expansive slavic expression. Of course the additional string players improved on what was a bit of a tinny sound, but I must also credit the conductor, Ibrahim Yazice. The pizzicato movement was a bit slow for my taste, but the rest of the Tchaikovsky was very exciting. ( I still can't help hearing the words we used as kids for the last movement: "Toscanini's wife had a ba-by")

I Saw Fritz at intermission and we made plans to work on some Mozart songs. He'd dug up a bunch of songs by obscure composers, but it's not necessary to come up with "interesting" programs here; whatever we perform will be new to most of our audience. So I may as well take the opportunity to prepare some of the standard repertoire I haven't yet done.

When I got home I checked in on the computer and my parents skyped me. They're coming to visit in April so we're doing a lot of planning. Does Dad need a jacket for any dinner restaurants? Undecided. Matthias says yes, Tatiana says no.

I woke in the middle of the night to an unbelievably loud storm. Windows were rattling, the door to balcony was blown open and the balcony furniture had been blown into a heap in the corner. I may have felt the building shake. I think I fell back asleep around 5:00.

I was awakened Saturday morning by the sound of my phone ringing. It's Irina, telling me my children's class is canceled because of the weather. The storm was over, but it was still raining a bit. In New York we had "snow days" when a big storm resulted in schools closing. Here, all you need is a little rain and everyone stays home. In this case, the cancellation was a fortunate turn of events, since it was past 10:00 AM and I should have been on my way to class already. The alarm was supposed to go off at 9:00. What happened?

I checked my phone and discovered I'd set the alarm for Sunday rather than Saturday. Oops. While exploring my phone I also discovered that the “Kim Aramis” messages from Turkcell I’d been ignoring were actually important. Unlike all the other Turkcell messages (which are ads for more services), "Kim Aramis" (which means “who called”, so I really should have noticed this before) tells you who called while your phone was off. I'd never realized these calls were not included in the “missed calls” category on my phone. Apparently you can only “miss” a call when your phone is on. Good to know.

Tatiana called and said she'd pick me up at 1 and we'd take Berivan to gymnastics and go for coffee at Starbucks. When we got there I realized I was hungry so we stopped at the food court where I procured a Tavuk Shish Durum (chicken kabob rolled in flat bread). The downside of Turkish fast food is that it's not exactly fast. The upside is, it's actually fresh food. So after my impatient waiting I was rewarded with a tasty lunch.

At Starbucks I met Tatiana's Columbian friend, Christina, and her ten-year-old daughter. It always surprises me how many Spanish-speaking friends Tatiana has found here. She and Christina told me about a meeting for expat women which meets in Lara on the last Friday of every month. That's next Friday. But next Friday the Orchestra is playing Brahms! I'll have to think about that. I usually take advantage of any opportunity to meet new people, but this is Brahms Piano Concerto #1 and the first Symphony.

After Berivan’s class we all went to a gathering at the University Espace Francophone. Another of Tatiana's Spanish-speaking friends, Caroline, who is French, invited us for an afternoon of crepe making and eating. I discovered my French language skills have deteriorated considerably. I can understand people, but I have a lot of trouble remembering words. For example, I couldn't even remember how to say “for example”. The first word that came to mind was Turkish, then came German, and then I was stuck. It is of course simply “par example”, just like English. Frustrating! I remember talking to Caroline when I first got here and I had much less trouble. Maybe there's only a certain amount of RAM in my brain drive, and there's no room for French with all this Turkish in it.

By the time I got home just before 6 it was raining again. Not like the night before, but yucky enough to not feel like hustling over to yoga class only to find it's canceled because no one else wanted to go out in the rain. So I settled in for the evening. Checked the computer, i.e. two e-mail accounts, Twitter, Facebook, blog comments. Remember when it was just checking e-mail? This social networking thing can be very time consuming. But the truth is, I'm glad for it in my current situation. I like keeping in touch not only with friends, but with what's happening back home in current events political, artistic and popular. Twitter is a nice snapshot of this. Plus it can be very funny.

I started to check what was on TV, but actually nothing was. Literally. I'd forgotten the rule: Big Storm = No Cable. Then I remembered I'd missed yesterday's episode of “Deniz Yildizi” while I was at the Symphony, so I found it online and watched it. Will Mert walk again? Will Banu leave Ozan for his best friend? Stay tuned. (This is my Turkish language study, so stop smirking.)

Walking home from class.

Sunday I taught the class that was rescheduled from Saturday. I've learned the kids like to color, so I gave them some drawings of fruits and vegetables to color, since those are the words they're learning now. We'd finished body parts last week, but we still ended class with a rendition of "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes”. I don't know any easy songs about food. Anyone?

I walked back from class, putting on and removing my sweater as I alternated between sun and shade. At home I ate a salad and cooked the string been dish I’ll be eating throughout the coming week. Checked the computer, and Mattias was online. We decided to continue our search for the best pizza in Antalya.

We went to Shakespeare’s which, despite its English name, is listed as an Italian restaurant here. This means they have pizza and pasta. We had the eggplant and steak pizza. The eggplant and steak were fine, but the crust was too puffy for me. I preferred last week's entry, Pepe Nero, where the toppings were less impressive but the crust was thin and actually resembled that of pizza as I know it. But they got our order wrong. Although Mattias has been here longer than I have, these kinds of things which I've gotten used to continue to bother him. I suppose next time it's back to My House, where they're often out of what I want, but what I get is usually pretty good.

Settling in to life in Antalya

2011-02-15T22:06:00.004+02:00

I haven't written in over a month. I suppose this is partly because of a touch of Seasonal Affective Disorder (okay, it's not cold in the sun, but the sun sets at 4:30 in January) and partly because I'm adapting to life here and having fewer household disasters and cultural surprises. Also, I started a new teaching job (part time, but still...). So, this post is about what life is like here when nothing happens. It's a Seinfeld episode!

I have now settled into a weekly routine: On Monday evenings I teach at a school called LINGVO from 6:00 to 8:00. This is my first experience teaching adults, so it was a bit challenging at first, but I’ve improved a lot in the last month. There are only two students in the class. Gokhan is an elegant gentleman with multiple advanced degrees. If I'd seen him in New York I would have assumed he was Italian. Turgay is college educated and works in agriculture. Both are primarily interested in improving their speaking for work situations. So we have a lot of conversations, some of which can be very interesting (like Turgay's opinion that the U.S. is controlled by Jews) and educational for me as well (in explaining the U.S. school system I learned how it differs from the Turkish system).

Originally I had another class as well, also meeting twice a week for two hours. But that was more difficult because the students were less advanced, requiring grammar explanations using their level of English and my level of Turkish. They were also slower learners, and as patience is not my strongest suit it could be quite frustrating. So when they wanted to change class to Friday evening I said no, and the class was rescheduled with another teacher. This was fine with me. I'm committed to finding work on my own terms. Even with only one adult class twice a week and my children's class once a week I am earning a good portion of my expenses. Eventually I expect to find enough work to be self-sustaining. It took me a year to transition from my law career in Los Angeles to my singing career in New York, so I think it's reasonable to expect at least that long to make the change from opera singer to English teacher in Turkey.

On Tuesdays there's tea and some sort of presentation at AKDIM, a cultural exchange center that offers various programs, excursions and classes. The presentations vary in quality, but the food served with the tea is always good. There's always some kind of cookie, and usually some type of salad or vegetable. It's not a good idea to have a big lunch before you go.

Most of the presentations are in Turkish and German. This is why the Russians always sit in the alcove and ignore the show. Sometimes there's an English translator. Not surprisingly, most of the people I've met there are from German speaking countries. Most of them are also over 65, which is also not surprising for an afternoon event. So when Gaby saw me for the first time she ran right over. She's a German widow in her fifties and was thrilled to find another non-senior citizen. It turns out she lives in my neighborhood, but much closer to the beach. Through Gaby I was included in the Christmas Eve dinner in Kaleici with her German friends, and she and I stayed local and had New Year's Eve at an Italian Restaurant.

The impressive tea display, with home-made brownies and mercimek kofte

On Wednesday evenings I go downtown for English conversation, beer and meze buffet. I’ve already written about meeting at Ayyas, so I'll just say it continues to be a great place to keep up with friends and to meet new people. New English teachers show up fairly frequently, and there’s almost always someone who’s just passing through – a tourist, a relative of a regular, etc. It's more fun when we can sit outside, but the inside is cozy and there's live music.

On Thursday morning I have belly dance class from 10:30 to 12:00. I’ve mentioned this class before, taught by the Russian woman who also teaches yoga and hired me to teach the Russian kids. Suffice it to say it’s a crap shoot as to whether or not class will take place, but when it does it’s very good exercise. In any case, it’s a 20 minute walk to get there, so I get some exercise regardless. (It's kind of sad that I'm teaching English and I just had to look up the spelling of "exercise".) Thursday evening I teach at Lingvo, the same class I teach on Mondays.

Friday is market day, when the local pazar is held. The produce here is unbelievable.
There's every fruit and vegetable I've ever heard of, and some I haven't. Many varieties of salad greens here are new to me. One looks like baby spinach but has a citrus taste, another was so spicy it made my eyes water and the vendor had to give me a carrot to recover.
I like that the lady who sold me cheese one week remembers which cheese it was when I return. I also like running into people I know. Last week the mother of one of my young students came up to me to say hello. I also found myself next to the Kenyan woman who lives in my apartment complex and has a tall, thin two-year old who looks like a mini-Obama. She's been here a while, so was able to identify more of the greens. I guess kale isn't really exotic, but I'd never bought it before and didn't recognize it without bacon and onions.

Of course the selection of spices, nuts and dried fruit is vast, but it's surprising how many other useful articles you'll find. The clothes range from traditional shalvar type wear (including long skirts and dresses, and those crocheted vests we wore in the early 70s) to Calvin Klein warm-up suits. Also available are sheets and blankets, kitchen utensils, and just about everything else.

Friday evenings I often go to the Symphony, which is one of the reasons I didn't want to teach Friday nights. I go alone, but always run into people I know: Fritz, the pianist; Elif, the singer (if you use the term losely); American friends Carol and Bill; and one of my 8 year old Russian students (who plays piano)and her mom.

The quality of the performance varies greatly depending on the conductor, and there's a different conductor every time. Last week they played the Beethoven Triple Concerto. I don't remember the last time I heard that piece live, but I think I know why. It's not one of Beethoven's best. Of course, it's still Beethoven. After intermission was Mozart Symphony 39, which is also on the obscure side of his symphonies. It had a strong Haydn influence, and it was good to hear it.

On Saturdays I teach my children's class at 10:30 AM. I suppose this scheduling could theoretically impinge on a Friday night outing. But since I'm at the Symphony Friday evenings, rather than a bar or a disco, I'm home at a reasonable hour so getting up early on Saturday is not a problem. (I don't really have a choice anyway; the jack-hammering from the construction site usually wakes me by 8:00 AM.) I've discovered I can walk to class in about half an hour, which is a nice change from the dolmus (mini-bus). The class has been getting easier and more fun every week. And the kids are so cute. One of them gave me some pictures she drew, and one of the moms gave me chocolates for Valentine's Day.
Walking home I can dawdle and do some shopping. Last time I picked up some interesting yarn to make a scarf. But it turns out my crochet skills do not extend to yarn with furry pieces, so the scarf looks a bit like a dead cat. Maybe I need to count stiches or something, but once I add numbers to an activity it ceases to be fun.
Saturday evening I go to yoga class from 6-7:30. This is obviously not the ideal time for a yoga class, but I enjoy it. So I either have a relaxing evening or go out for a late dinner. I've skipped class a few times to go to the opera, but I've decided I'd rather be at yoga class.

Sundays are the only days without the annoying construction sounds, so I like to take advantage of the quiet by spending some time on my balcony reading a novel or studying Turkish. It's also a good day for laundry (weather permitting, since the clothes need to dry on the rack outside) and there's always cleaning to be done. (Close friends and family insert wise-ass comment here.)

There are also monthly or occasional activities which supplement this schedule. Once a month on Sunday my book group meets. This is mostly made up of the women I see Wednesday evenings at Ayyas, but the group is so big on Wednesdays that we don’t all get to talk to each other. We meet to talk about books at Carol's place, which is in a great downtown location, so I usually make a day of it and do some walking/visiting/exploring/shopping.

Last Sunday I went with my German friend Matthias on a drive up the mountains looking for the ski resort. We never found it, and didn't get to make snowballs, but we got a closer look at the snow-capped mountains and some incredible views. It was a nice get-away, with a completely different feel from Antalya's city.

Matt also told me about a German/Turkish group that meets once a month, so I went to the most recent one. Matt cautioned me that it was more formal than the English group meeting. (Did he think I’d be uncomfortable anyplace more upscale than Ayyas? ) So I put on a skirt for the first time since the weather turned cold, and a pair of pantyhose for the first time since I’ve been here!

The toughest part of the evening (aside from having to wear pantyhose) was finding our way to the somewhat secluded horse club. I’ve written before about the difficulties regarding directions, and the lack of signs or streetlights didn’t help. But we arrived before anything had started (the event apparently working on Turkish rather than German time).

After drinks were served the club owner gave a slide presentation on equestrian history and such (All l remember was something about horse riding starting in Anatolia and being copied by the Greeks and Romans; I was too hungry to focus at that point). The talk was followed by an acceptable dinner of kofte and chicken kabobs for 20 lira ($15).

The German/Turkish group is organized by a Turkish Akdeniz University professor who lived in Germany for many years. Several of his colleagues who came didn’t speak German, but they all spoke some English, so it was a tri-lingual evening. The woman sitting next to me was a law professor who had studied at Columbia. Another Upper West Sider! She thought I might be able to get some consulting work as a native English- speaking American-trained lawyer. We’ll keep in touch and see. I invited her to come to Ayyas on Wednesdays to keep up her English and she liked the idea.

Sultan's dog, Maya, standing at the door asking to be let into the room with food.

Other unscheduled activities include shopping at Migros (I recently picked up a yoga mat there; the mats at the gym are pilates mats which are not conducive to standing poses), dropping in for tea with neighbors (I met a woman at the beach in November who speaks German and has a golden retriever), and even in the winter there are days here when the best thing to do is walk to the beach and sit in the sun.

Turkish Hospitality

2010-12-26T15:32:00.004+02:00

Turks are known for their extreme hospitality. Every guest is treated like royalty. I’ve seen various forms of this with everyone I’ve met here. My first hosts, Mehtap and Fadime, did everything to make me comfortable, including remembering which foods I liked and making them more often. It was difficult explaining to Fadime why I wanted my own apartment. Of course I was happy with her, I said, but I wanted the challenge of setting up house here and living on my own. She then suggested I get an apartment in her building. I explained that I’d lived in a city for the last 20 years, and came here to be near the sea. Fadime accepted these explanations, but when I have dinner at her place I’m still expected to stay the night.

The frequency with which one hears “don’t go home, you can sleep here” accounts for the prevalence of the Turkish sofa-bed known as a cekyat. These are different from the sofabeds of the west, in which a bed frame and mattress emerge from the couch. The cekyat simply flops open and lies flat. The back of the couch becomes one side of the bed, the seating part of the couch is the other side. This makes for a firm, smooth sleeping surface which is quite comfortable as a bed. As a couch, cekyats are a bit too firm for my taste. I miss sinking into the pillow-seats of my old couch.

The first cekyat I slept on was in Nazli’s living room.
I met Nazli during my first month here, when I didn’t speak much Turkish. Nazli speaks no English. Somehow we became and remain friends. We met while waiting for a tram on the outskirts of town. Unlike buses and dolmuses which take cash, the tram requires a ticket which must be purchased before boarding, usually at a kiosk. After unsuccessfully looking for a kiosk I noticed a well-dressed young woman in a headscarf doing the same thing. Figuring that she’s a local and will know what to do (or understand instructions from someone who does) I kept an eye on her. Apparently she was directed to the market on the next block, so I tagged along. “Cok sacma” she said, which was one of the few phrases I knew (“this is ridiculous”) and I agreed.

After securing our tram tickets, we started walking back to the stop but saw the tram leaving. She asked where I was going, and I told her I had a day off from Turkish class and was just exploring. This was the point at which she realized I was a foreigner, and the hospitality instinct took over. She told me to come with her to Kaleici and she would show me the old city. She even paid my bus fare.

Nazli on her balcony.

We walked around Kaleici for a while, stopping at various friends’ and relatives’ places for tea and conversation I didn’t understand. Eventually I told Nazli I was hungry, and she took me to a kofte stand where I had a delicious grilled meatball sandwich. Then we went back to her apartment, conveniently located right across from Hadrian’s Gate. Nazli’s sister stopped by, kissed me hello on both cheeks, and then Nazli made Turkish coffee. After drinking it, Naz.li read the coffee grounds. I’m going to get married! The coffee was very clear, according to Nazli. She couldn’t specify a time frame though.


Hadrian's Gate

After coffee the three of us went out for an arm-linked stroll and some shopping. Ataturk Caddesi has lots of shops with youthful, western clothing. I watched as Nazli and Ayse tried on mini-dressed over their flowing black pants and long sleeve shirts. They also admired some lingerie but didn’t buy anything. The next stop was Café Salman, where Nazli’s husband works. Mahsun speaks some English, which allowed me to relax a bit after having struggled with Turkish all day.

Ataturk Caddesi

A few days later I went to Nazli’s for dinner. Mahsun came home later (he works 6 days a week, 10 hours a day). It was too late for the tram, so I was taking a taxi home. Of course I was offered the cekyat, but I wasn’t going very far and Fadime was expecting me. Since moving out to Konyaalti though, I’ve spent many a night on their cekyat. I’ve also experienced the hospitality of Nazli’s parents, who never send me home without a bag full of home-grown tomatoes and pide bread baked outside in the stone oven.

The latest family to adopt me belongs to Sami, the gentleman who rescued me from the tidal wave. Silly American that I am, I ignored the fact that no one else was lying on the beach and laid out my mat far from the reach of the waves. I thought. All of a sudden a giant wave swept over me, taking one of my sandals with it into the sea. While a waded in to retrieve my sandal, Sami moved the rest of my belongings to dry land. And then we had tea.

Sami warned me not to trust Turkish men. He said they lie a lot. Not him though. Yeah, yeah, I know the drill, I thought. But then he did something different: He called his wife and introduced us. She invited me to dinner, and I accepted.

Sami lives not far from me, in a small apartment with his wife and young son. His older son is married to a Russian and lives nearby. Neighbors were also included at dinner. One was a single woman, the other came with a daughter Sami's son's age. All the adults were smoking, and no windows were open. It wasn't pretty. I have no objection to smoking, but I believe it should be an outdoor activity. By the time I got home a few hours later my clothes reeked of smoke. I undressed and put them in the laundry.
machine.

Dinner consisted of manti (Turkish ravioli) with red pepper and yoghurt sauce, potato kofte (eaten inside a lettuce leaf) and backed eggplant with tomato and "fake meat', whatever that is. I guess it was some kind of wheat gluten. There was also a chopped green salad. It was all very nicely prepared, but it was extremely salty. After dinner they put 24 on the TV because it was the only thing on in English, and some conversation continued which I could not follow. After tea and the end of the TV program I got up to leave. They suggested I sleep on their cekyat. Why? I live a short walk away? I was able to escape by explaining that my parents were expecting a Skype call from me. Sami insisted on walking me home, and asked me what time I woke up. When I wake up, I should come over for breakfast, he said. Uh. Okay, if I wake up early I'll call you.

As it happens, I was really tired and slept very late the next day. By the time I woke up, Sami had called three times. I called, and he invited me over. Some other time, I said. The next day he again called three times. What have I gotten myself into? And why do these strangers expect me to move in? I guess the concept of a woman living alone by choice is not familiar to them. I'm sure they think I'm lonely, and of course I know they are trying to be nice. But really, at what point does aggressive hospitality cross-over into stalking? I guess it's all part of getting used to a different culture. And that's why I came to Turkey, right?

Turkish Cooking for Dummies

2010-12-13T16:50:00.005+02:00

I was going to call this post "The I hate to cook book: Turkish Edition", but since the original "I hate to cook book" has recently come out in a 50th Anniversary Edition I thought I might get in trouble. But the Peg Bracken book remains my inspiration. I remember reading the book as a teenager and laughing out loud at instructions such as "bring it to a boil while you light a cigarette and stare sullenly at the sink". I don't remember any of the recipes, but the point was they were easy. The idea was to find ways to eat a decent meal without spending hours in the kitchen. Made sense to me.

As a lawyer in Los Angeles, I rarely got home from work with time or energy to make an actual meal. It was usually a Lean Cuisine frozen dinner at 9 PM. I was pretty thin back then. Turns out working yourself to the brink of exhaustion and not having time to eat is an effective weight loss plan.

When I lived in NY I had more free time and more appetite, but I was also a short walk from the Fairway supermarket. Fairway draws shoppers from all over the city. In addition to the excellent produce, imported cheeses and gourmet condiments, Fairway has a large selection of freshly made meals. All I had to do was heat them in the microwave for a few minutes. Why bother to buy all those ingredients and do all that work when Fairway could do it better?

Now that I live in Turkey I’ve had to find other ways to feed myself; prepared foods are a rarity. Of course, there are many opportunities to eat out. This is an especially good idea at lunchtime, when traditional restaurants offer a daily menu consisting of soup, salad, yoghurt, rice or pasta and a meat/fish/chicken or vegetarian entrée. When I was taking Turkish lessons downtown, my classmate Tatiana and I would usually go to one of these “Ev Yemekleri” (home food places) after class for their daily menu. These meals typically cost between 5-10 TL ( 4-7 dollars). When you eat a complete meal like that for lunch it’s easy to settle for a sandwich at dinner.

There are also several good places to eat in my neighborhood. My default restaurant is Bienka. They have everything from traditional Turkish dishes like kofte (grilled meatballs), pilav and piyaz (beans in tomato sauce), to “Italian” pasta dishes, to meat and chicken entrees of mysterious origin (like their “stroganoffs” - meat or chicken with a sauce unrelated to actual stroganoff). Anyone can find something to eat there, and the fresh ingredients make all the dishes taste good even if they bear no relation to what they’re called.

Another local spot I like is Twilight Cafe. They actually have a poster (in Turkish) of the movie hanging up inside. And I hadn’t even made that connection. But I forgive them because they have the best gozleme in town. Gozleme are like French savory crepes, but a bit firmer. They’re also square instead of round, folded over and eaten like a sandwich. They’re usually available filled with spinach, peynir (feta), Kiyma (minced meat), Kasar (mild yellow chess) or potatoes. You’ll find them at most stops on long bus rides, always prepared by little old ladies wearing headscarves and traditional village attire (shalvar or long skirt, long sleeved shirt, long crocheted vest). The lady who makes the gozleme at Twilight told me she’d had a dream about me. The waiter there said he could fix my broken heater. That’s what happens here when you go someplace more than once; you become family.

Gozleme

Of course I do occasionally cook an actual meal for myself. I’ve been gradually figuring out the easiest way to do this. One of the most useful short-cut ingredients is Knorr soup mix. The mushroom soup is particularly versatile: Add fresh mushrooms and nutmeg to fettucini for an Italian style “ai funghi” or tuna and peas for a casserole. Adding frozen kofte makes a nice Swedish meatball dish. Mmm, just like Lean Cuisine used to make!

Another Ellen-proof recipe is to buy pre-seasoned chicken pieces and bake them with olive oil and tomato or red pepper paste for about half an hour. This is surprisingly good, especially with Sehirli Pilav, for which there is unfortunately no short-cut. (But I have to wait for the chicken to cook anyway, so it’s no big deal.) This involves sautéing the sehri (small pieces of pasta), washing the rice, adding the rice to the sehri, adding boiling water to the rice, cooking for 10 minutes or so and then “brewing” by putting a paper towel over the rice for 5 minutes. This is more trouble than I’d ever thought I’d go to for rice, but it really does taste better this way.

The traditional Turkish manti (tortolini-like pasta filled with minced lamb) are also widely available frozen or dried. They’re served with a sauce of yoghurt, butter and mint. Couldn’t be easier. Be warned though, Turks tend to overcook their pasta. Al dente preparation is not appreciated. This is probably why Mahsun says “please don’t cook” when I invite him and Nazli for dinner.

Grueling Grammar: Why Turkish is so hard to learn

2010-12-08T15:43:00.003+02:00

One of the reasons I decided on Antalya, as opposed to a sunny spot in the Far East or Africa, was that I would be able to blend in to some extent. Based on the number of people who stop me to ask for directions, I'd say that I more or less fit in visually. But I also thought that since Turkish doesn’t require learning characters or tones it wouldn’t be that difficult to learn. Turkish, like all the other languages I speak, is composed of an alphabet whose letters combine to make words, which then combine using grammar to make sentences. How hard could it be?

But the similarity to western European languages ends there. Learning to speak Turkish has presented quite a challenge. As a native speaker of English I had a head start learning German, French, Italian, Spanish and Dutch. Because English is a Germanic language, many of the words are similar to their counterparts in German and Dutch. Because of the Norman Conquest there’s a strong French influence in English, resulting in many words with Latin roots. So any literate speaker of English can pick up a text of a Germanic or Romance language and find at least a few words to hang on to.

For example, take the sentence “I read my book”. In German, “Ich lese mein Buch”. The similarities of I and Ich, my and mein, and book and Buch are obvious. In French, “Je lis mon livre” is a step further away from English, but you still have the “m” clue on the first person possessive, and once you see the relation of livre to library, the sentence is easily learned. In Turkish, “Kitabim okurum” gives you no clues at all. Not only is the lexicography unrelated, the grammar is the opposite of what we’re used to. In Germanic and Romance languages you say “I read my book”. In Turkish what you say is “Bookmy readI”. And it only gets worse from there. If the one reading the book is the man at the table you say “Tableat sitting man a book reads."

Now that I've been studying Turkish for seven months I feel like I have a decoder ring that allows me to understand written Turkish. When I come across a difficult sentence I translate it word for word in my head, noting the suffixes that indicate subject, object, possessor, possessed, etc. I can usually figure it out. Listening to Turkish is another matter, since I can't press a pause button on people who talk to me. I can and do ask them to speak slowly, and that helps.

Hardest of all, of course, is putting these words together myself to communicate verbally. Needless to say, I "uh" and "ah" a lot, and have even started to say "sey" ("thing") as the Turks do when at a loss for words. Saying "um" is a no-no, as it sounds like a very nasty Turkish word for a female body part. You see, the pitfalls are everywhere.

Even so, I don't understand how so many Europeans can live here for years without learning the language. They are missing so much. Yes, learning Turkish is difficult, but I will persevere. A year from now, very good Turkish speakablewillbeI.

Turkish Composers: Who knew?

2010-12-05T22:49:00.004+02:00

This is the eleventh season of Antalya's main musical event, the International Piano Festival. The title doesn't do justice to this series of concerts, which includes everything from the comedy team of Igudesman and Joo to Yosuke Yamashita's Jazz Band to the Moscow Virtuosi. Tickets at 30 TL (about $20) are relatively expensive, compared to the 10 TL price of orchestra concerts and opera tickets here. Not surprisingly, much of the audience was foreign. I heard as much German and Russian as Turkish, and most of the Turks who did attend spoke English. This was confirmed by the fact that they laughed at jokes told in English, but it's a safe bet that most Turks who'd pay 30TL to hear western classical musical are highly educated professionals. The acquaintances I ran into were in that category.

Although the emphasis of this festival is on western classical music, various Turkish composers are represented. Turkey has its own tradition of classical music, called "Turk Sanat Muzigi" (Turkish Art Music), and instruments unique to that genre. But the music I'm talking about is western classical music by Turkish composers. I've studied music from the age of eight and spent six years at a Conservatory getting two degrees, but I'd never heard of a single Turkish composer before I came to Antalya.

And it's not because they aren't any good. The Borusan Quartet (an excellent ensemble made up of string players from the Borusan Istanbul Philharmonic) played selections from three of them. The first was a neo-classical blend of pentatonic melody, driving rhythms and complex counterpoint. If I'd heard it on the radio I would have guessed Bartok. As it turns out, I did learn something at music school: When I googled A. A. Saygun ( the ony information about the composer in the program) I learned that Ahmet Adnan Saygun ( 1907-1991) traveled with Bartok collecting and transcribing folk songs, and that the London Times called him "the Bartok of Turkey". But Bartok gets lots of ink in music history texts, and Saygun is unknown in America. Is this a result of western prejudice, or does Turkey just need better P.R.?

The next piece was by Fazil Say, the contemporary composer/pianist who is the Artistic Director of the festival. His Quartet Op. 29 used every special effect known to string instruments (col legno, harmonics, etc.) and was more about texture than melody, harmony or polyphony. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But I would rather have heard the entire Saygun Quartet (they'd played only the fourth movement). The final selection added the forces of Muhiddin Durruoglu, the virtuoso pianist who'd played the first half of the evening's program (including a Schumann "Papillons" with so much rubato it made me seasick). This Quintet by Erkin was closer to the style of Saygun modally and rhythmically, but was more melodic and less contrapuntal. A google search for Ulvi Cemal Erkin (1906 –1972) revealed that he was in fact a contemporary of Saygun, and that both were members of what came to be called the "Turkish Five", the pioneers of western classical music in Turkey. As Bartok did with Hungarian folk tunes, these composers incorporated Turkish melodies into western classical compositions.

The surprises continued with the encore by Fazil Say, based on Mozart's Turkish March. It began with the pianist playing a phrase of the original Mozart, followed by the quartet playing a jazz variation of the same phrase. At the conclusion of the melody the pattern was reversed, with the quartet playing a straight transcription of the Mozart and the pianist playing a jazz riff. Both the pianist and the quartet were stylistically convincing. I'm always impressed with those who truly excel in both jazz and classical music, but for these musicians to have mastered both foreign genres was truly extraordinary.

Before the concert, I'd spent the day at the beach. Swimming. In December. So, if you're planning on visiting Antalya, consider coming in the fall. The weather's beautiful, the tourists are gone and there's a world-class festival where you can hear some of the great compositions of the standard classical repertoire, and a few pieces by Turkish composers which should be included in that category.

Mass Transit or Mass Confusion: Antalya's Public Transportaion

2010-12-01T14:44:00.010+02:00

My bus stop.

I've been living here for 6 months, but I'm still having trouble finding my way around. Granted, my sense of direction is abysmal, but that's only part of the explanation. I don't have a car here, mostly because I don't drive. I did drive when I lived in Los Angeles, but I wasn't very good at it. Between my lack of spacial perception (and I'm not talking parallel parking here; I once hit the side of a house) and my general tendency toward absent-mindedness (forgetting to turn the car off and almost running over a valet), I was pretty much a menace. It was an easy decision to give up driving when I moved back to New York.
Even those who have cars here rarely use them in town because gasoline is prohibitively expensive. I met a Belgian woman who lives just a bit further out than I do, and she takes the bus for 3 TL round trip rather than spending 10 TL for the gas it would take, plus 3 or 4 for parking. However, it's a 10 minute drive that takes 40 minutes on the bus.

This is because there is no bus with a direct route to anywhere. All buses have circuitous routes. For example, there is a main thoroughfare that runs all through the metropolitan area. It's called Ataturk Bulvari where I live, and Yuzuncu Yil downtown, but it's the same road. It would be so easy to get downtown if there were simply a bus that ran up and down this street. Again, not that New York's MTA is the paragon of mass transit, but isn't it nice that you can hop on the M104 on Broadway in either direction knowing that you'll continue on Broadway? Imagine if that bus went up and down every side street. It would take forever to get anywhere. In Antalya, it does.

There are a few trams ,which are very nice if you happen to be going where they take you, but there are none near my home. There's no subway/metro/underground, so the only options are bus and dolmus. A dolmus (which means "stuffed") is a mini-bus that stops whenever passengers want. The buses have regularly scheduled stops. And that's all the information available on buses and dolmuses here.

It's not that I was expecting an i-pod app like the ones I've used in NY, London and Amsterdam. But wouldn't you think that somewhere there would be a printed bus map? Well, you'd be wrong.

The entire system runs on trial and error. The buses do have numbers, and there's a sign in the window with the main stops listed. But this information is not very specific, and it requires a prior knowledge of Antalya's geography. For instance, I almost got on a dolmus yesterday that had Kale Kapisi (the center of downtown and entrance to the old city) listed. But then I noticed Dokuma listed before Kale Kapisi. Going from Konyaalti to Kale Kapisi via Dokuma is like going from London to Paris by way of Berlin. So I waited for the next bus. But if I hadn't known where Dokuma was I'd have been on the bus all day.

My favorite stop is listed as "Eski Otogar" (old bus station) and appears on many central routes. At first I thought Antalya had two bus stations, an old and a new one. I've since learned that "eski" also means "former", and that the "Eski Otogar" stop is actually "Where the Bus Station Used to Be". So, not only do you have to know where things are, you have to know where they were before you moved here.

Another frustrating aspect of the system is that there are no round-trip routes. In other words, you can't rely on the bus that took you where you are to bring you back home. In NY I took the 79 crosstown bus, oddly enough, across town, west to east. And then I took it east to west. Logical, right?

When I first moved into my apartment here I was advised to note the buses that passed by, so I'd know how to get home. I soon discovered the futility of this effort. I remember getting on a #82 dolmus, which I'd seen several times near my apartment. But the driver insisted he didn't go there. As you have probably deduced from the paragraph above, the #82 that passes by my place is coming from an entirely different direction.

Okay, I thought, I'll just stay on it until it comes back around. Wrong again. When this #82 got to the end of its route, it changed its sign and became a #34 headed for parts unknown.

The upshot of all this is that buses are constantly delayed by passengers boarding an unfamiliar bus asking if it goes where they want to go. So, you see, it's really not my fault that I still get lost now and then.

P.S. I just found out that the stop in my neighborhood referred to orally as "Garanti Bank" (because that's what's there) appears as "Turkay Oteli" on the bus signs. They haven't even bothered to add an E to give you a hint that it's actually "Eski Turkay Oteli" and is no longer there.

Update: In August the entire bus/dolmus system was revamped and all the routes changed; I had to start all over figuring out which to take. The good news is that there's finally a bus that goes directly from Ataturk Bulvari in Konyaalti all the way downtown and through to Lara. The bad news is that the bus is always so crowded it gives me flashbacks to New York subways at rush hour.
In October, the Garanti Bank moved, meaning I now have to give directions to my apartment that start with "You know where Garanti Bank used to be?"

Adventures in Antalya: At the Movies

2010-11-30T11:24:00.000+02:00

After spending the day restoring my electricity, I now have just enough time to shower and change and walk down the street to meet up with friends for the opening concert of the Antalya Piano Festival. It takes forever for the shower water to heat up (it's solar powered, not electric. Surely nobody's turned off the sun?) but I do get cleaned up and meet my friends. We decide to pick up tickets first and then get something to eat. Of course, the concert's sold out. It's just that kind of a day.

My companions on tonight's adventure are three Englishmen I met at the ex-pat gathering at Ayyas on Wednesday. Aziz is at the end of a three month stay here as an arts consultant (I decided from now on I'm going to be a consultant too, rather than having to explain that no, I'm not really working but no, I'm not really retired), James is here part-time, and Tony is in transit between his last five years in Cyprus and his new home in Alanya.

Okay, there's no concert, so we can have a nice dinner in Kaleici. Nice atmosphere, interesting conversation and good beer. It could turn out just fine. We're in the car headed downtown when Aziz gets the idea that we could stay in Konyaalti and see a movie at Migros (the mall). "At least we can do something cultural" he says, and proceeds to make a U-turn of questionable legality. How "Due Date" (Zach Galifianakis making Robert Downey Jr. miserable on a car trip across the country) qualifies as "cultural" is a mystery, but that's what we end up doing. After dinner at the food court, of course. Not exactly fine dining. And no alcohol. We're having some fun now!

The Migros mall in Konyaalti where I went to the movies.

   Actually, though there were times I wanted to reach into the screen and ring Zach's neck, there were parts of the movie that were really funny. It was good to laugh, and my mood had lifted somewhat by the time I got home. Still, I couldn't fall asleep until I took two Tylenol with a shot of vodka.

   The next day I decided it was time to get my new printer set up, so I went down the street to the Kirtasiye (stationery store) to get some paper. I'd been to this place a few times before, buying supplies for the class I teach. I was greeted by the saleslady who opened her arms and said "gel, gel" (come) and gave me a big hug. She didn't understand my request at first, but then held my hand while she patiently listened to me explain what I wanted. (Turns out it would have been faster to ask for "computer paper" in English rather than using Turkish to say "I bought a printer for my computer and I need paper for it".)

   On my way home the guy from the clothing store, who'd covered for the kitchen/bath salesman last week to sell me some shelves, called me over to tell me he'd made a mistake and overcharged me. The kitchen guy wasn't there to give me a refund at the moment, but I was busy looking at clothes anyway so I stuck around. A few minutes later the kitchen guy showed up and handed me twenty lira.

   It was a beautiful, sunny day. I smiled as I walked home, thinking about the likelihood of a New York saleslady welcoming me with a hug, or a shopkeeper seeking out a customer he'd accidentally overcharged a week earlier. I picked an orange off a tree, inhaled the Jasmine that's still blooming at the end of November and reflected on how nice it is to live here.

Restoring Electricity in Turkey: In which the Bank and Post Office conspire to drive my crazy

2010-11-29T11:11:00.002+02:00

When I woke up to the continuation of the power outage, the charm of these quaint blackouts began to fade. I wanted to check my e-mail, set up my printer, brew a pot of tea. Okay, at least there's sunlight. Look on the bright side (pun intented)!

So I sit on the balcony and read some Turkish children's stories. Eventually I hear the elevator, and I wonder how it's working without electricity, so I ask my neighbor if his power is on. It is. Now I'm getting angry. I go downstairs to find Mustafa, the kapici in my building. He's not around, so I track down Cetin, the kapici for the other building. Cetin opens the circuit board and shows me the disconnect notice. At this point I lose my composure. How was I supposed to know my power had been shut off when the whole neighborhood had been blacked out? Cetin says I have to take this up with Mustafa.

   I was so angry and frustrated I started to cry. I couldn't believe the chutzpah of shutting off my electricity during a blackout! They can't manage to supply the electricity I'm paying for, but if a payment is late they're suddenly extremely efficient. Then there's that doofus of a doorman who didn't have the sense to let me know he'd turned off my power, even though I obviously wouldn't have any way of knowing about it while the entire neighborhood was blacked out.

   The last time they turned off my power I had paid my bill on time. I never used to keep receipts, but fortunately I've taken to keeping them here. I showed the receipt to Mustafa and he looked at it, looked at the disconnect notice, and looked at my receipt again. He obviously found this quite baffling. Eventually he shrugged and turned the power on.

   This time it turns out the bill hadn't been paid. I'd spent half an hour two weeks earlier at the Bank arranging for automatic payments of all my utilities. Apparently there was some problem with my application, but the bank didn't let me know this until I called and asked what was going on. Unbelievable. They had my home and cell phone numbers, my e-mail and my snail mail address and yet couldn't be bothered to warn me that none of my bills (electricity, water, cable tv, phone, internet) had been paid! People always ask if I miss anything about New York and I can never think of anything. I realize now that I am in fact a bit nostalgic for the competence I'd taken for granted all those years.

   Now it's Friday afternoon, and I've got to get to the PTT (Post Office) before it closes so I can pay this bill and bring the receipt to the kapici so he can turn on my power. Otherwise it will be two more days without power. So off I go, running and crying at the same time. The PTT lady wants to know why I was running. Really? Do I have to explain this to you? Can't you just take my money so I can get this over with? I pay her, get my receipt, and run home so I can catch one of the doormen before they go out for the evening. They're nowhere to be found, so I go to the market in my building and the guy there calls Cetin, who he says is on his way. After sitting on the front stoop for ten minutes I finally see Cetin strolling over, and I show him the receipt. He turns on the electricity. Exhale.

My building.

Cursing the Darkness: Blackouts in Turkey

2010-11-28T11:32:00.003+02:00

Sunrise from my balcony.

   Blackouts happen fairly frequently here, so when my internet disconnected at 9 AM on Thursday I didn't get too upset about it. After all, it was daylight, and I was going to an 11 AM belly dance class anyway. The only hardship was foregoing my Turkish tea ( brewed in an electric cay makinesi), but I had a gas stove I could light with a match, so I boiled water and settled for a tea bag.

   It's about a 15-20 minute walk to the gym where I take my dance class. I would never have intentionally joined a gym that far from me, but the branch I joined was just down the road from my apartment. It disappeared over the summer. So I make the best of it, go less often, and pick up freshly baked ekmek at the bakery on the way back. It's only 15 kurus (10 cents) more that the public bread, but it's much better.

   Belly dance class doesn't happen. Classes are only held when enough members show up for them. Okay, so I get on the step machine for a few minutes and then take my time with some grocery shopping. When I get home the power's still off. Oh well, I've got places to go, things to do, etc. I decide to try to find my way to Lara, where I'm told there's a store that has printers compatible with my slightly out of date macbook.

   I got on a bus bound for Lara and when we got there I ask the driver if he stopped near the store I wanted. He didn't. So I got out at a big shopping center and was lucky enough to find an electronic store that had the printer I wanted. And I found a bus back that dropped me off about 5 minutes from my home. The lights were still out when I got to my building, and there was no way I was going to get that big, heavy box up nine flights of stairs in the dark. So I sat on the stoop and considered my options. Just as it occurs to me I can leave the box with the kapici (super) the lights go on and I'm able to take the elevator. Woo hoo! Did I handle this blackout perfectly or what?

The "Laura" mall where I shopped in Lara.

Lara's "SheMall" whose name cracks me up.

Not so fast. There's no power in my apartment. I guess I was lucky it was on long enough for me to use the elevator. Okay, now what? Well, I've got a candle and my Kindle and ipod are charged. I scoff at you, blackout! You will not defeat me! The darkness made me sleepy and I went to bed early.

Happy Holidays (unless you're a sheep): Turkey's Kurban Bayram

2010-11-21T13:26:00.004+02:00

Mary had a little lamb. She killed and ate it on Bayram.

   When I returned to Antalya after the summer (I don't know how anyone stays here in the summer when temperatures range from 100 to 120) it was toward the end of Ramazan. During Ramazan Muslims fast from dawn to dusk for an entire month. This doesn't stop people from going to work and otherwise carrying on as usual. The end of Ramazan is celebrated by Seker Bayram (seker means sugar or sweet), for which I joined Nazli and Mahsun in their visits to Nazli's family. We started at Nazli's parents' house. Mahsun kissed his father-in-law's hand and brought it to his forehead, the traditional sign of respect for elders. I didn't see any money change hands, but I know Mahsun was expected to give money to the children who in turn kissed his hand. (He'd been complaining about how much Bayram was going to cost him). Then one of Nazli's sisters brought us lemon cologne and we were served tea and chocolate candy. Then we went to visit Nazli's aunt. Hand kissing, cologne splashing and tea and baklava followed. After that, we went to see one of Nazli's married sisters. Hand kissing of elders, distribution of cologne and baklava ensued. You get the idea. After the third baklava I had to decline as politely as I knew how. I was starting to feel sick.

   Speaking of feeling sick, Turkey is now celebrating Kurban Bayram. Kurban means sacrifice, and it's celebrated by slaughtering a sheep, cow or goat on the first day, and eating it for the rest of the week at family gatherings. The nice part of this holiday is that meat from the animal is given to the poor. (During Seker Bayram money is given. A man playing a drum and a little boy rang my bell every evening to collect.) The sickening part of the holiday is the amateur butchering of animals in front of small children.

   Why do they do this? Because Kurban Bayram is the Muslim holiday celebrating God's saving Isaac and substituting a ram for Abraham to sacrifice. (Who knew the Old Testament was so prominent in Islam?) The Koran calls for commemoration of this event, which some Muslims take to mean recreating the sacrifice (without the first scene with the son). Many modern Turks don't feel the need for a literal recreation of the event, and celebrate by buying meat and giving it to the poor, or buy taking an animal to a professional butcher for slaughter. The government has tried some regulatory measures regarding the health hazard of rotting carcasses in populated areas, but regulations in Turkey are really just suggestions anyway.

I should point out that I had a lovely day at the beach yesterday and did not have to step over a single carcass to get there. It's not as if everyone in Turkey kills an animal and leaves it on their front lawn. On the other hand, my friends Carol and Bill went to the outskirts of town to distribute meat to the poor. Bill said he saw many a carcass dotting the landscape. Carol had covered her eyes.

I met up with Carol and Bill at the weekly gathering of English teachers at Ayyas, which turned out to be just the three of us. This is their first year here as well, so none of us knew that all the teachers would be gone this week. Since schools are closed, this is when the full-timers do their traveling. It was a nice evening though, and this time I did try the meze buffet. There was a delicious salad with crispy chicken liver and a yoghurt dressing, and some unidentifiable meat I found objectionable and ended up giving to Buddy, the sweet chocolate lab mix who hangs out at Ayyas. I also tried the lamb brains. No, they didn't taste like chicken. More like tofu.

Antalya's Opera

2010-11-16T21:52:00.000+02:00

On Tuesday I went to the extravagant home of Fritz, the pianist. He has a two-story apartment in Lara, steps from a park overlooking the water. He's been here eight years, and has all the comforts of home including a grand piano. We drank coffee and chat for a while before getting to the music. I'd brought my audition aria book, but thought it might be nice to warm up on a song. There were many in his library, but all in high key. He showed me a book of standards, and I figured that might be fun. So we read through "All the things you are" in a truly horrific arrangement that had the piano doubling the vocal line. It was a bit awkward. So I showed Fritz my aria book but he balked, saying he couldn't possibly play any of those without practicing ahead of time. Really? To be fair, Fritz never claimed to be an accompanist, even though he has done concerts with Elif, a mezzo I met at the Symphony concert. His background is as a solo pianist and teacher, and I guess sight-reading isn't a required skill for either of those pursuits. Still, it reminded me how lucky I've been to work with some of the best vocal accompanists in the business. (You know who you are!)

   After returning to the standards for a stab at "Misty" we took another coffee break. Fritz had been invited by Elif to attend the Trovatore dress rehearsal tonight and invited me to go with him. So we headed out (in Fritz's giant van) to the opera house, which unfortunately is in the middle of nowhere adjacent to a shopping mall. There was much strife in getting the thing built at all; the Minister of Culture objected to spending money on "the art of the infidels" but he was overruled, with a compromise that part of the building would be used as a school.

   The theater is actually quite nice, with an excellent acoustic. But the rehearsal was called for 6 and didn't start until 7. This put me in a rather foul mood, especially since I hadn't had dinner. Once it started though, it seemed promising. The bass singing Fernando was quite good. Unfortunately, the Russian mezzo they'd brought in for the opening was not singing this rehearsal, and the light lyric soprano (yeah, I said it) essaying Azucena caused me much pain. And it wasn't as if you could focus on anything else. Although the costumes were nice, the scenery was non-existent and the "staging" was limited to placing the singers on the stage. It was old-fashioned, Eastern European stand-and-sing; more a series of tableaux than anything resembling direction. At the end of act 2 I'd seen enough, and said I needed to get something to eat. Elif was done at that point, and Fritz joined us at the food court of the shopping mall.

   The opera here has a structure I've never seen anywhere else: All singers sing in the chorus, from which most soloists are chosen. The girl who sang Azucena tonight is Elif's rival and (according to Elif) keeps getting cast because she's good at sucking up. Well, something funny is going on, because even from the bit she sang in the car I could tell Elif would have been a better Azucena than her rival was. For one thing, she has access to her chest register. Also, she sings vowels.

   So, do I want to try to get an audition for this company? Undecided.