Food and Drink in Turkey

In many of the restaurants in Turkey, the menus have a picture for each item. I suppose that the idea is that this allows people who do not speak Turkish to know what they're eating. The pictures were generally so small, though, that they weren't very informative--try looking at a page full of pictures of different types of pide and figuring out which ones are topped with meat.

Pide is called "Turkish pizza" by some, but some Turks take offense at this--they see pide as a distinct type of food. I agree with them. Pide is an oblong piece of flat bread with melted cheese and various toppings. The cheese normally used is called kaşar; I think it's a little sweeter and less salty than mozzarella and with a firmer consistency. Pide is personal-size, and is served cut into inch-wide sections; this makes it easier to eat, I think. It's not very crusty and there is no tomato sauce, so I don't think it's like pizza; the only thing in common is melted cheese on bread.

Pide and kebap shops are considered the bottom-tier of dining, analogous to American fast food, I suppose. However, the food is served on real dishes, and soup and salad are included in the meal.

I like to eat terrible instant pasta made by Knorr; this is one of my favorite post-all-nighter comfort foods. In Turkey, the only Knorr products are terrible instant soup.

Turks are very proud of their salad, which normally consists of lettuce, red cabbage, carrot, cucumber, and tomato, and is dressed with olive oil or a wedge of orange or lemon. Sometimes one big plate of salad is brought for the whole table and everyone eats together and doesn't worry about mouth germs.


The milk sold in grocery stores is not refrigerated; it's super-pasteurized.


I only had one cup of drip coffee while I was in Turkey. In Turkey, instant coffee is drunk instead; it is exclusively known as NesCafe through brand generalization. I found this magical cup of drip coffee at church; evidently, coffee is a sacrament uniting Christians globally.

I drank out of so many cups exactly identical to the one shown. They hold 200 mL. They are made of thinner plastic than a plastic Dixie bathroom cup. This is the sort of cup that would be at a water cooler. I drank out of these cups on inter-city busses and in cyber cafes. Hot drinks like NesCafe are sometimes served in them.

Sugar packets are long and skinny, as are creamer packets. NesCafe even comes in single-serving packets, sometimes with the sugar and creamer included.

The soda cans hold 330 mL, which is a little less than the 12 oz I'm used to, so they look funny to me.


Turks also have Turkish coffee, which is like espresso in that it's very dark and strong. Turks normally drink it with plenty of sugar, unless mourning. Turkish coffee is brewed in a little urn called a cezve on low heat. When done properly, it makes a foam from the proteins in the coffee. Milk is never added. The coffee is unfiltered, so one must wait for the grinds to settle before drinking. Turkish coffee is not drunk to get wired; it's more often used as a sign of hospitality. Paul and I were served it when we visited some scientists at a university.

Due to coffee shortages from World War I, Ataturk suggested that the Turks switch to drinking tea; before this, coffee was the main hot beverage in Turkey. Now, Turks are the number one per-capita consumers of tea in the world, at 2.5 kg/year; the UK is in second at 2.1 kg/year--not even close. Turkish tea is brewed in a pot on top of another pot, full of boiling water. This controls the temperature of the tea, keeping it around 170-180ºF, which, I think, releases fewer tannins. It is typically steeped for 15 minutes, three times as long as black tea is normally steeped when brewed in boiling water. It has no astringent aftertaste.

The concentrated tea brewed in the top pot is diluted with the boiling water from the bottom pot; even after dilution, Turkish tea is still stronger than the tea normally served in the States. Turkish tea is served in a small tulip-shaped glass; this makes it easier to dilute correctly and allows appreciation of the color of the tea. The tea is served in small vessels so it stays hotter while drunk; guests are given seconds and thirds and fourths...

Rakı is Turkey's national liquor, made from distilled fermented grapes and flavored with anise. (Greeks call it ouzo, and Iranians call it arak.) Rakı is drunk diluted. It is clear, but, because of magic, turns cloudy when water is added. Once, I was served rakı in a bar, and I added water, but it was already diluted, so the Turks I was with were able to tell that I'm sort of a poseur sometimes. Turks are very good sports when foreigners mess up their customs.

In Turkey, the carrots are shorter and fatter than the ones here. Celery was nowhere to be found. Bell peppers are called "American peppers"; the peppers that are popular in Turkey are more bitter than the ones I'm used to.


Mayonnaise and ketchup are popular condiments and are eaten with pizza. When I told Hassan, one of my hosts in Izmir, that Americans think eating pizza with ketchup and mayonnaise is peculiar, he said that while he doesn't eat pizza with mayonnaise, and agrees this is a little strange, "with pizza, ketchup is a necessity."

Ayran is a salt yogurt drink; it's very popular.

Tofu is almost impossible to find. I met some Koreans in Turkey who import their own freeze-dried tofu, which they say is passable if you only need soft tofu.

French fries are sometimes eaten with a fork; I get the sense that other foods that I would regard as finger foods would be eaten with a fork in Turkey.

At the McDonalds restaurants in Turkey, in addition to the menu I'm used to from the States, there is the McTürko, which is beef patties served on flatbread with a special sauce; Matthew says it's basically the same as a McArabia, but the sauce is a little sweeter.

When I told Turks about how I'm used to refrigerated milk and drip coffee, they were surprised.

The most useless phrase in the phrasebook

[The following is based on my journal entry from 12-30-2008, while I was in Turkey. That day, Matthew, Paul, and I went to Haya Sofya and the Blue Mosque, and the Istanbul antiquities museums. We then went to two toy stores, trying to find Silly Putty. It is likely that I had, in my pocket, the only egg of Silly Putty in the country. We then went to the spice bazaar and had supper near there at a pide and kebap shop.]

Tonight at supper, I used eight Turkish words. First, I asked the waiter, "Ingilizce konuşuyor musunuz?"--"Do you speak English?" He looked confused, like I'd mispronounced something to the point of incoherance. Onur suggests that the waiter thought that if I knew enough Turkish to ask that question, I ought to know how to order in Turkish.

Then, I said "Ben vejetaryanım"--"I am a vegetarian." The waiter pointed at the three items on the menu without meat: soup, salad, and plain cheese pide. I ordered the pide.

Pide is flatbread with melted cheese on it, typically kaşar. Some people call it Turkish pizza, but some Turks, I hear, resent this--they see pide as being in a category of its own. It does not have tomato sauce.

In restaurants in Turkey, sometimes the bill is left on your table during the whole meal--that is, the waiter will take your order, leave the bill on the table, and append it as you order more things, say drinks or desserts. This seems to me to be a sensible system that prevents bills from getting mixed up. In other restaurants, though, you'll actually have to request the bill, they won't just drop it on the table when they want you to leave. We would have been trapped in limbo if I didn't say, "Hesabı, lütfen"--"Bill, please."

As we left the restaurant, I called out, "Hoşçakal," and the waiter replied, "Güle güle." (You say goodbye differently if you are leaving or if the other party is leaving.)

I felt so ashamed when the waiter looked blankly at me when I asked him if he speaks English. It was awkward, and I have five days of awkward built up.

If I move here, awkward will be my life for months, and I won't ever be normal. That will be hard.

The day after Josh's wedding proper, the party continued. We had a barbecue, then went inside for dessert. There were four languages being thrown around. I got out my yo-yo and did tricks. Claudia tried it, and her dad teased her because she couldn't get the yo-yo to return. Claudia's dad is Chilean, so he mostly teased her in Spanish. My Spanish wasn't good enough for me to translate what he said, but it was easy to get the gist from context. (It was a fun teasing, not a mean teasing.) She would hold her mouth open--her sister, Pamela, told me that she does this when she's concentrating--her dad teased her about that, too. I said, "En boca cerrada, no entran moscas"--"Flies don't fly into closed mouths" and everyone who spoke Spanish laughed. Even the people who didn't know Spanish laughed. That was the first time that I told a joke in a language besides English. That party is probably my favorite picture of heaven.

Today was the first time I used another language when I really needed it, and that experience was more purgatorial.

What Turks will tell you despite language barriers

Turks are very friendly people, especially to foreigners.

Whenever would pass a Turkish boy on the street, he would say, "Hello, hello, money, money." I don't think that Turkish boys are particularly greedy, but it's funny that hello and money seem to be the first English words they learn.

One time, Paul and I were in the Turkish air museum, and the person working there came up and told us that photography is either allowed or prohibited (I still don't know which). He then showed us the gift shop and a few of the exhibits. He could tell that we didn't speak Turkish, but he kept speaking to us in Turkish. He then kept saying something about Obama, and looked happy, and then said Bush, and grimaced.

There were many times that Turks who don't speak English would tell us about how they like Obama but not Bush. The other big thing that Turks who don't speak English will try to communicate is their pride in Mehmet Okur, the Turkish basketball player with the Utah Jazz.

On my last day in Turkey, I was trying to figure out where I should wait for the bus to take me to the Sivis Otel, where I could catch a shuttle to the airport. I asked, in Turkish, a person who works for the bus system if he spoke English. He immediately walked out of his booth and called out to the crowd, I presume asking for an English-speaker. One came up and translated directions to me. Then, I heard the worker say something about Israel and Palestine, so I had time to be overcome by dread before the translator asked me my opinion of the current situation in Gaza.

Meta-Blog Post

I hate throat clearing. Worse, I hate it when throat-clearers acknowledge their throat clearing. Unfortunately, this is what I'm doing tonight.

I've not had a whole lot of great ideas for bloggy articles lately. I didn't even write one this week, honestly, I forgot. I haven't had anything so interesting that I would write it up a week before my self-imposed deadline. I do have three ideas for longer bloggy series:

1. Continue talking about Turkey--I have only written about a quarter of the things that I could have
2. How to lead Bible studies--I find that whenever I'm training small group leaders, I have concrete advice that I've figured out myself, but I don't see anyone else using these tips
3. Talk about how I work. I've been thinking about this a lot lately. I could write a whole article about plain 8 1/2x11" paper.

Questions for discussion:

• Which of these would you, dear reader, prefer to read?
• For the series on Bible study, I want to use one passage or book as a case study. What do you think would make a good test case?

Public Transit

Istanbul's public transit includes busses, a metro, a trolley, ferries, and a funicular. All transit services can be paid for with an Akbil (akıllı means intelligent, and bilet means ticket), which looks like a hearing aid battery mounted on a piece of plastic the size of a key. You can pay for a number of units on the Akbil, then use these units as you travel. It is very satisfying to place the Akbil on the little Akbil socket, and it makes a fun noise as it takes your money.

In some places, the metro runs over regular roads, so traffic gets backed up at metro stops. Funiculars are half subway, half metro. Funiclars use counterweights to pull train cars up and down steep slopes. They only have two stops, one at the bottom of a hill, and the other at the top. One of the funiculars was formerly powered by horses; this funicular runs from a metro stop to the start of the trolley line. The trolley runs on Istikal Caddesi. I took the trolley once. It doesn't save a lot of time, because Istikal is a busy pedestrian street with a lot of neat shops and stands, so people are always in the way of the trolley. Istikal Caddesi ends at Taksim Square, the heart of modern Istanbul, where Paul and I went to ring in the New Year. Matthew and I saw a demonstration at Taksim when we got to Istanbul; demonstrations in Taksim are illegal.

Ferries connect the European and Asian sides of Istanbul. For 50 kuruş (about 30 cents) you can get a cup of tea in a real glass on a real saucer. The ride is about 20 minutes, which is just long enough to have a cup of tea. I think that if I were to live in a city with a ferry, and I wanted to write a book, I would sit on a ferry and drink tea all day as I write.

There are also ferries in Izmir, but they are smaller. Drinks and snacks are also served on them. For me, riding ferries was a big adventure; it was very relaxing to be able to look at the city at night from the water while drinking sahlep. I think it would be interesting to live in Izmir or Istanbul and commute by ferry every day.

Sahlep is a warm beverage, sort of like egg nog, but flavored with wild orchid. It is illegal to export authentic sahlep from Turkey, for fear of destroying the wild orchid population. It has a great flavor, but it's so sweet my teeth hurt.

In Izmir, public transit can be paid for with cash or with cards with RFID chips in them. The cool Izmiri don't even take the cards out of their wallets, they just bang their wallets on the receiver. (I learned to do this very quickly so that I would appear to be a native.) The cards are disposable, and you can buy cards holding either three or five units. This doesn't make sense to me because I normally use public transit to make round trips, so the cards should come with an even number of units.

On Ankara's public transit system, you can buy cards with a certain number of units on them; I seem to recall that they came with six or ten units. If you want to pay for several people traveling with one ticket, you punch the card into the card swipe machine, then press a button corresponding to the number of people traveling with you. The buttons are arranged vertically, and each button is on a colored stripe; I think this is so that a bus driver only needs to use his peripheral vision to see which color's button you pushed, to know how many travelers you've payed for.

The most terrifying things in Turkey are Dolmuşes, which are like minibusses; the evil turquoise thing in the picture is a Dolmuş. As I understand it, Dolmuşes are run by private companies, but their prices are set by the city government. They run set routes, often going to places that busses don't go, or on more direct routes. Dolmuş is Turkish for full; Dolmuşes are so called because they have seats for ten riders, but about twenty might crammed into one. However scary it is to cross the street in Turkey, it is more harrowing if you see a Dolmuş coming. Dolmuş rides have to be paid for in cash. Passengers enter Dolmuşes through the side, so each Dolmuş ride starts with half a dozen riders, at least, holding out handfuls of coins to the driver and telling him how many people they're paying for. The driver takes the money and makes change, while driving.

I think that Dolmuş drivers are supposed to have a helper who takes the money, instead, but what I've always seen is that the helper is buddies with the driver, and they talk together the whole time, and the driver winds up driving and taking the money. This doesn't make much of a difference, safety-wise, because even when not taking money, Dolmuş drivers do not obey any traffic laws.

Back home again

I'm back from Turkey; I'm home again in Baltimore. I dare you to guess how the left side of my left leg, at the top of the calf wound up bald. More Turkey posts will follow as I go through my notes.

In Izmir

I'm in Izmir and got here in good order, except when there was confusion as to what time the bus would leave the rest stop, but Paul kept them from abandoning me.

Disorientation

On the way to Istanbul, Matthew and I had a seven-hour layover in London, so we left the airport and took the tube to Westminster. The train robot said at each stop, "mind the gap," this phrase is, evidently, a cultural icon in London. English humor is such that I don't know if we're so frequently told to "mind the gap" ironically or seriously.
Also, I don't know why there is a gap--the floors of the train cars are often half a foot above the platform.

So, we got off the Tube at Westminster. There were security cameras everywhere. As we walked out of the station, I asked Matthew, "Where's Westminster Abbey?" "You're looking at it," said Matthew of the old building right in front of us. I felt a little silly, until we rounded the corner to enter, only to discover that the building is actually the Parliament building--the Abbey was next door. We went to enter it, but it's £9 to get in for students, and I didn't feel like paying that much to see a church, even such an important one.
Driving to church on Christmas Eve, I mentioned to my family the forthcoming long London layover. Eddie asked me if I could get something for him while I'm there. What? A necklace. The entire family laughed at him, poor chap. Secilee asked for a picture of Big Ben.

I saw a clock tower, but it was pretty small. I said, "Let me take a picture of this; I'll tell Secilee it's Big Ben." Matthew said, "Um, yeah, that is Big Ben."
(Later, on the phone, Secilee told me that she thought Big Ben was a double-decker bus.)

We went to the British museum, but it was closed. Instead, we got pasties and postcards, then popped in at the Museum Tavern, which is a couple of hundred years old. We each had a pint of Old Peculiar, which I would recommend.

After landing in Istanbul, late that night, we tried to find a pay phone in the airport. Everyone here is very friendly--one person told us to look outside. After going outside, and seeing no pay phone, we tried to get back in, but a police officer blew his whistle at us. We crossed the street to the parking garage and back again. We asked for directions from another police officer, and he told us to enter the airport through another door. We did, but we would have had to have our luggage x-rayed to proceed. We tried to go back, but the door was one-way. We slipped around the next slew of people entering and we escaped. We found the stairs leading down to the metro station; we figured a pay phone might be there.

We did, indeed, find a pay phone, but it only took credit cards or calling cards. I picked up the phone, Matthew handed me his card, and I slid it into the slot, and dialed our host, Elizabeth. I could only type two digits before the machine reset. I tried again.
The payphone didn't look like the payphones in the US. Those, you just drop coins through a slot and dial the number. The phones here in Turkey have a little LCD screen with two buttons on either side of it. We tried pushing buttons that we recognized, or, rather, avoided buttons that we knew wouldn't be helpful, like the one of the police or the one for pre-paid phonecards. Matthew suggested that we ask for help, but I told him that we'd probably have an easier time getting the machine to work than we would finding someone who spoke enough English well enough to help us. Repeatedly, I would push a different button, slide the card, and start dialing. Each time, I could only type two digits before the phone reset. There were other buttons, off to the left, one that I didn't recognize, one with a picture of a telephone, one with the letter L and one with the letter R. I tried those, too.

A half an hour later, I tapped the L button, but this time, the text on the screen turned to English. I swiped the card. The screen said that the card should be swiped with the magnetic stripe up.

Tap water in Turkey

The tap water in Turkey is not potable.

I was worried when I read this in my travel guide, and went out immediately to Dick's and bought iodine tablets. Matthew did not, claiming that he has an unusually effective digestive tract. Seeing how many Aldi pizzas he can eat right before bed, I'm inclined to agree. I figured I would play it safe, though.

So far, I've only used one tablet.

Turks don't drink or cook with Turkish tap water; it's fine for showering, or washing clothes, vegetables and hands, it's just not drinkable. There are a couple of elements of culture here that respond to this problem.

In restaurants, bottled spring water is served. In the cafe Paul and I had lunch at today, bottles of water were be sitting on the table next to the salt and pepper shakers and napkin dispensers; this isn't normal, you normally have to order water. Some restaurants charge for water (normally 50 kuruş or 1 lira, about 33-66 cents), but nicer ones provide it for free. They always make a point of bringing the water bottle to your table sealed, so you know that it's real spring water.

In homes, people get their water by the jug, like the big Deer Park jugs in water coolers in America. In America, the jug normally sits on a water cooler, nozzle-side down, but, here, the jug sits on the floor, and a special pump is used to dispense water. Pumps are for sale at many stores, and are inexpensive, I saw one today for 6.50 lira. Jugs of water are delivered to one's doorstep for about 2-3 lira.

The tap water in Turkey is not potable, but it's really no inconvenience at all.

Buying things in units

In America, we're used to paying for utilities monthly in a bill. Here in Turkey, cell phone time is purchased in köntör (units), but, as near as I can tell, no one is quite sure how long you can talk per köntör, or how man text messages are in a köntör. People text here a lot because it's actually much cheaper than talking. This is sensible; text messages back home cost me 20 cents a piece, so don't text me, please. This is funny, because, byte for byte, data sent by text message is more expensive by a large factor than sending data to the space shuttle and back again. Natural gas is also purchased in units, rather than paid-for at the end of the month. Today, in the metro station at Kızılay, we saw many people standing in a long queue to pay for gas, which seems inefficient. I'm told that this is because many people only have enough money to pay for three or four days' worth of gas at a time.

Streets in Turkey

So far, in Turkey, I have only really spent time in down-town parts of cities. They feel like Half Life 2 or The Bourne Identity, very gray and with tiny streets and tiny cars. Signs are everywhere in Latin script but written in words I don't generally recognize. The idea of "zoning" seems to be a loose concept here, so a bar might be on the third floor of an apartment building--friends who have lived here a while say to look up when wandering, because you never know what you'll find. In Kızılay, the Ankara city center, there is a coffee shop that you need to enter by going through a book store; this is perhaps the best sort of problem to have.

The sidewalks are brick or cobblestone; some of the streets in Istanbul were cobblestone, also, but I haven't seen many like that here in Ankara. The curbs here are very high; sometimes as much as a foot tall. Sometimes the sidewalk is at the same level as the curb, like I'm used to, but sometimes the sidewalk is at the level of the street, so you'll often see two people walking side-by-side, with one using the curb as a balance beam. Istanbul is an old city, so it's not very well-organized for driving--the roads twist and turn at odd angles. Ankara's roads seem to be more organized, because Ankara grew up more recently.

Simits are readily available; simitçi (çi means vendor--what an efficient language!) sell simits from cute uniform red carts that have umbrellas when the weather is bad. The simits are kept in glass compartments. Simits are halfway between bagels and pretzels, and are covered entirely with sesame seeds. They're a great snack, and cheap, too--1 lira. We're pretty sure the simitçi are under the rule of a simit cartel. They leave their carts overnight, and don't seem to be afraid that they'll be stolen.

Freshly roasted chestnuts are sold the same way, except they're sold by the gram. The vendor uses an old-timey balance to show you that he's giving you the amount you ask for. The vendors use tongs to put the chestnuts in a paper sack one at a time. It's worth getting 100 grams of chestnuts for the experience of it, but they're very expensive, 3 lira. They are delicious, though.

Taxis are all over the place; there are probably twice as many taxis as regular cars. Empty taxis driving past honk at pedestrians, which is convenient, so you know that you can get a ride. Taxis in America are so expensive that I've only ridden in them twice, to and from the San Antonio airport. Taxis here, though, are very cheap. Matthew and I paid 50 lira for the ride from the airport all the way across Istanbul, just about, after midnight, while giving the cab driver terrible directions (he rolled down his window and asked other cab drivers where Kemankeş is, several times, when stopped at red lights); this is about 33 dollars. That was the most we had ever had to pay. A 15 minute ride typically costs less than 10 lira, so it's actually very affordable for tourists to use taxis to get around; taxis are generally too expensive for the people who live here, though, because salaries are very low, 300-900 lira a month.

In Baltimore, pedestrians will cross a street, walking in front of oncoming cars. We don't even have to look both ways, we know that the car's going to slow down. Really mean pedestrians make eye contact with the driver of an oncoming vehicle, daring him to hit them.

Crossing the street here is terrifying. Traffic lights aren't always obeyed, and even when they are, drivers will expect you to run out of the way if you're not quick enough in crossing. Many of the roads, especially in Istanbul, are very narrow, and so one car will have to pull off onto a sidewalk to let the other car pass; this will happen even if pedestrians are already on the sidewalk.

Pointing and Smiling

I'm surprised at how quickly I'm picking up on Turkish, but more surprised at how much milage I can get out of only a few words.

Today, Paul and I tried to take the bus from the Middle Eastern Technical University to Kızılay, the city center, but missed the stop entirely. The bus dumped us on the north-west edge of town.

I'm realizing that gesturing and using very few works effectively, right now, is a more important skill than learning proper Turkish. I hear that Turks are more likely to help confused foreigners than other Turks, so looking disoriented is a survival skill here. When we got on the bus this time to go to Kızılay, I asked the driver, "Kızılay?" to make sure we were going the right way, and he nodded. If I'd tried to phrasebook it and use something resembling proper grammer, or even if I'd tried to say, "Otobüs Kızılay'a gitir?" (The bus goes to Kizilay?) that probably would have been less effective. I don't know what I would have done if I had used a fancy phrase and he responded saying something I wouldn't understand.

When we got to Kızılay, we weren't sure we were there. (It turned out that we were a few blocks from the bus stop we'd used this morning.) I asked someone "Do you speak English?" instead of "Ingilizce konuşuyor musunuz?" and he shook his head.

(One time, I asked a waiter, in Turkish, if he spoke English, and he looked at me like he was very confused. I don't know if that's because my pronunciation was bad, or because it doesn't make much sense to ask someone if they speak English in Turkish; either I ought to know enough Turkish to order in Turkish, or too little Turkish to ask whether the waiter knows English. I've not used the phrase since. On the other hand, it seems polite to me, though, to try one's best as the language of the person one is speaking to, and not simply assume that they'll know one's language.)

So, I asked the stranger, "Kızılay?" and pointed down, and he nodded. We went back and forth on this until I was sure we were, in fact, in Kızılay. He and his girlfriend argued about which way was right or left; they knew these words in English.

Well, they knew right and left, but got them backwards, so I had to ask, "Metro nerede?" of some other strangers.

Our first day in Istanbul, I noticed that Matthew did a better job of ordering food than I did, because he is used to being in situations where he doesn't know the language. It's very awkward, and I feel rude, but Turks are generally accommodating when I point at things and use English words they might not understand. I don't think there's much proper etiquette for when two people don't know a common language. Smiling helps patch things up, though.

Kocatepe

Today, we went to a coffee shop called Kocatepe. I was able to order "Türk kahvesi, sütlu, şekurli" (Turkish coffee with milk and sugar) and only flubbed a couple of the vowels. I'm not sure my grammar there was at all correct, and I had to consult the phrasebook right before ordering for "şekurli," but I'm so excited about being able to use another language for practical things. I think that all that I've used my Spanish for is telling jokes to a Chilean and his family and getting a map in San Antonio. This trip makes me want to visit some Latin American country, just so I can use a language that I've worked hard at learning; I've barely put in any time learning Turkish.

Snow on Bolu Mountain

Starting, I suppose, about 50 km east of Istanbul, I saw patches of snow on the ground. As we traveled east, up the mountains, the snow got thicker, until I saw about eight inches of snow on Bolu Mountain. This is where our bus stopped for lunch. The view was breathtaking. In Ankara, it's snowed all day today--Mike says it's snowed here six out of the past seven Christmases. The snow's not as thick here, maybe four inches. I should have packed my sled.

Shoes, Toilet, Shower

In Turkey, one is expected to take off one's shoes when entering a house, because shoes are unclean. I hate shoes, so I love this practice, and plan to impose it on my guests when I return home.

At the apartment Paul and I are staying at now, there are two bathrooms. Rather, there is one room for the toilet, and another for the shower. I understand this is a rather common arrangement, or was, back when squat toilets were more common. The shower and the toilet are at opposite ends of the apartment; I'm not sure how common this is, but because toilets are dirty and showers are where one gets clean, I'm glad that there's space put between them. The only problem is that I always, ahem, excrete before showering, so the process is a little longer.

The toilet here is a squat toilet. I'd never used a squat toilet before, and had heard horror stories about clueless Westerners pooping on Chinese trains, where the toilet is just a hole in the floor.

Upon using the toilet myself, though, I must say: sit-down toilets are, perhaps, the worst aspect of Western cultural imperialism.

I do not think that I have ever had such refreshing and thorough experiences defecating as the three times that I have used squat toilets. The intestines are aligned properly, and so there is minimal effort required.

The first time that I used the squat toilet, I stood to urinate, then dropped my trousers to my ankles to defecate. The geometry did not work such that I could then urinate a few more drops without hitting my pants, so I had to be careful. I am not sure if this is an issue for women who wear trousers, because I'm entirely unfamiliar with their plumbing and the angle of urine emanation.

For men, certainly, I recommend keeping the pants at knee level (this is probably best for women, as well). Trust the geometry! It works! Simply by putting my feet on the footpads and squatting as low as I can go, I have bombed direct hits each time, right from the start. It's tough to aim the urine stream, but, I think, with practice, this will not be too tricky.

To flush, I filled a pitcher with water and dumped it on my droppings. The pitcher was quite small, maybe half a gallon. These toilets use far less water than sit-down toilets, conferring major environmental benefits.

The tragedy is that squat toilets are disappearing all over Turkey, and probably elsewhere as well. Sit-down toilets are seen as more modern (flush toilets were invented in 1596).

All of the toilets that I have seen here provide toilet paper. This is probably not the norm for squat toilets, but I do not mind that the authenticity of my experience is undermined. I hear that a more thorough wipe is obtained using the hand, which is then washed thoroughly.

All I have to say about the shower is that we have the showerhead mounted on a hose rather than fixed to the wall, so I have to coordinate the soap and the showerhead, but this is not very tricky.

A brief, throat-clearing note on Turkey blogging editorial practice

For all posts written outside of my regular schedule of 1 AM each Tuesday, expect no proofreading, links, or pictures until I return. After I return, I'll make these pretty and re-post them. So, if you want to go ahead and read them now, that's fine, just come back in two weeks for pictures and lucidity. Otherwise, as Tim Milligan, "If you're a person who likes surprises, don't look!"

Excerpts from email to Cammy

The following are edited excerpts from email I've sent to Cammy; I've been emailing her more than blogging, but I think some of the stories I've told her are fit to print. [Note to Cammy: you don't need to read this post, but I've added some things.]

To get to Turkey, Matthew and I flew British Air. I was very impressed, but Matthew says that British Air is the European carrier that he's flown that he likes the least. He also says that in first class on Emirates, there's a menu of massages you can order from the flight attendants. I do not believe him on either count.

I had requested vegan meals, they were so-so as far as food is concerned (like, a couple of my noodles were crunchy when they should not have been at all), but
seemed to be about as good as the other food. Matthew says that his food stacked up well with other airplane food.

On our layover in London on December 26, Matthew and I had a pint each of Old Peculiar at the Museum Tavern; I highly recommend it. While we were there, a Scotsman walked in, and complained about how his hosts for Christmas only drank wine--he's not had beer since Christmas Eve! (He made it sound like forever.) He tried ordering a Pride of London, but they were out, so he settled on a winter ale. (I'd tasted it, and found it too bitter.)

At any rate, Pride of London has the approval of a Scotsman.

That night, we arrived in Istanbul. I will talk about the layover and the trip from the airport to our host in more detail on my regular-quality post on Tuesday.

December 27, we pretty much just sat around, recovering, until late in the afternoon, when Matthew and I went to Taksim Square, where we saw a rally and bought food. [Cammy tells me that, according to Wikipedia, rallies are illegal in Taksim.] I'm surprised at how useful my meager Turkish is. Most of the people selling food or working in shops know enough English, though, for us to get by. We just got back from Kahve Altı, which means Coffee 6; it's a hip bar where music was being played and we drank Efes Pilsen, which is the most popular beer of Turkey. [The joke I didn't get at the time is that kahvaltı means breakfast; kahve is coffee, and altı is six. I think that's the first Turkish pun I got, but I didn't get it until I saw a lot of breakfast places on Bolu mountain and looked it up.]

I liked it. There was music in the front; we sat in the back room, which had a tree growing out of the ceiling, heat lamps, plants, and the floor was a bed of pebbles. I should have asked if I could take my shoes off.

Matthew also got some rakı, which is Turkey's biggest liquor. Cammy says, "Rakı sounds like magic," and she is right. It is clear, but when you add water (a customary way to drink it) the water goes cloudy. Matthew is trying to figure out why it does that. It is like a whiskey, but made with grapes, and has a licorice flavor (it's flavored with anise). When I get back home, I'll try to find some.

Onur, one of our hosts, tells us that AROG is in theaters. I've seen GORA with Evan; AROG is its sequal. GORA is a Turkish-language sci-fi parody movie. Evan loved it. Paul and I will try to see AROG while we're here.

On January 2, Paul and I traveled from Istanbul to Ankara by bus. Onur told us that Varan was the best choice for inter-city travel, because they alternate drivers every three hours--this makes them the safest bus company. We recommend Varan for its excellent service and the picturesque stop for lunch on Bolu mountain. It is evidently much more expensive than other bus lines, so we'll try a cheaper one as we travel to Izmir, and will report on the difference. All of the busses are supposed to have great service; they serve beverages and snacks, and the attendants are very polite. Ours wore a vest and bow-tie.

There are two feniculars in Istanbul. Look it up on Wikipedia, for realsies.

Props so far:
Elizabeth and Onur for giving us places to sleep in Istanbul
Martha and Sarah for also helping us find our way around and giving us tea and mousse
Max, for tips on vegetarianism in Turkey
Tahiry for showing us around ITU and telling me how awesome Boğaziçi is
Cindy, for introducing us to the largest continent in the world and giving perspective on getting transplanted to Turkey, and not minding nargile smoke too much
Mike for showing us around Bilkent
Deniz for hosting us in Ankara
Matthew and Paul for being excellent low-key travel buddies

Ankara, day 1

Today, Paul and I rode the bus to Ankara, the capital of Turkey. It wasn't very expensive, and the service was better than on Southwest Airlines. We ate lunch on Balu Mountain, with an amazing view but for the pine trees in the way of the window. They gave us a lot of tea and coffee and pretzels and cake. The bus was mostly empty, so we could spread out.

We're staying with Deniz, another couch surfing friend. He's very friendly and helpful; he cooked us supper and we looked at pictures from his trips to Italy and Greece. Deniz has a cat, Minnoş, who is, evidently, a couchsurfing cat. Bedtime now, more later.

Rather brief update

I wasn't sure what to write, the past three days have been dense. I could just list the things we did, but Matthew's account is quite effective. I'm not very interested in touristy things in general; I wouldn't have come here just for fun. I'm trying to get a sense of the place to see if I want to move here when I grow up, and I don't know a quick and easy way to talk about the things that play into that decision. I'm thinking about:

• How awesome the lightswitches are (very)
• How I'd do with the language (it shouldn't be too bad--I'm surprised by how much I'm picking up. I'ma go agglutinate some crap!)
• How nice the people are (excessively)
• What the universities are like (hip, but there's not as much English used as I had expected, even in the "English" universities)
• How easy it is to eat vegetarian (not too hard, except that it's assumed here, moreso than in the states, that everyone wants to devour as much beef as they can get their hands on)

Layover in London

Matthew and I have arrived in Istanbul. I don't have anything really amazing to report about Turkey so far, because we landed at the airport and immediately headed for our place to stay for this leg of the journey. Couchsurfing rocks. Thanks, Elizabeth!

Matthew and I had a long layover in London, so we went to see Westminster Abbey, but it cost 9 pounds to get in, and I didn't feel like paying that. We saw Big Ben and the Parliament building, then took the Tube (mind the gap) to the British museum, which was closed. Instead, we popped into the Museum Tavern, which opened in, I think, the 1720's, and had a pint of Old Peculiar.

We've been flying British Airways. I've never traveled internationally before, so I don't have much of a standard of comparison, but they're really amazing! I got to watch Curb Your Enthusiasm on the trans-Atlantic flight to London. They gave us toothbrushes and socks! The food was pretty okay, as far as airplane food is considered. I requested vegan meals, and they've done an excellent job of accomodating me.

[Brief editorial note: I normally release posts on Tuesdays at 1 AM. I intend for this to continue; I have one post in the hopper for next week, and I'm working on the next. These posts will be in my normal style. However, during my trip, I'll be posting all willy-nilly, mainly so that you can tell that I'm still alive.]