Wednesday, October 14, 2009
um.
I did that wrong. Don't read the following post first. Read the one after it. That's where the story starts.
i rode in a horse cart again. yes, again.
Day Two.
We went to breakfast around 9. The only hiccup at breakfast was a lack of communication between our waiter and us, which could have been written off as poor language skills. However, many of the girls felt that this "miscommunication" was a recurring event here in Morocco - as women we have often found that we are given sub-par service at restaurants (when we order food they'll bring us out something else and inform us after the fact that they didn't have what we ordered) and when getting taxis (which is next to impossible for whatever reason). So we set off for Paradise Beach a little grumpily.
And then the walk to the beach was a two hour endeavor. In summation: it was long and hot. The end.
The beach was as beautiful as before, even if there were a few more Spanish tourists there. We sunbathed and read our massive homework assignment for sociology: an article all about Morocco, and I do mean ALL about Morocco. Around 2, two of the girls went to find their taxi, which had come to the beach to pick them up; they told me, Elaine and Katie that they would ask the taxi to come back and pick us up at 3.
At around 2:50, the three of us started walking up the hill that ran along one edge of the beach to meet our taxi. We weren't sure where he would pick us up but saw our friend's footmarks in the sand stop a little ways up the hill, so we figured we'd walk a little further and wait for the taxi in the small bit of shade we could find. We sat down and waited for a good 30 minutes. During that time, the youngest cousin on the horse-cart from the night before passed us again, this time with a mule attached to a cart ladden with horse feed. He asked us if we wanted a ride, but the poor mule looked like he was having a really hard time of it, so we told him that we were fine with walking and he went on his way. When we finally admitted to ourselves that the taxi simply wasn't going to come for us, Katie pulled out three energy bars (claiming that we had a LONG walk ahead of us a very little sustenance to make it - really it wasn't that dramatic) and we ate them before heading off along the sand path through the fields to Asilah. The walk was very hot and very dry, and we were a bit loopy by the time we reached the main road. And who should we see riding back to us but little cousin and his empty mule cart. He had come back to give us a ride. We nearly cried when we saw him. We hopped into his cart, and he drove us back to the city, jabbering uselessly at us in dereeja because he didn't know Spanish, unlike his cousins. We nodded and smiled and pretended like we had a clue what he was saying, because he was so nice in giving us a ride.
When we made it back to the hotel, we managed to relax for a while before heading off to dinner - seafood again. Very good seafood, as well. And very much still alive. The plate that they brought out to show us was ladden with lobsters that were still twitching at us. It was relatively un-nerving. After dinner we went back to the hotel and looked at the stars, which still twinkled in a familiar northern pattern, even if we were on another continent.
Day Three:
The next morning we packed up our stuff, checked out of our hotel, and walked to find a breakfast of cheese omlettes, chocolate filled croissants and cafe ole. After breakfast we caught a taxi to the train station and got onto the train, which had the worst air circulation of any mode of transporation I have yet to have the misfortune of being on. By the time the train pulled into the train station at Fes, we were all dripping sweat and desperate to breathe fresh air again. I have no possible clue how the women who were wearing jilabas and head scarves didn't faint dead away. There are some hardy women here in Morocco.
I heard it's snowing in Minnesota. That is really, really sad. It's super hot here, which I'm not so sure I prefer to the snow. I'd like a happy medium for us all.
Stay well!
We went to breakfast around 9. The only hiccup at breakfast was a lack of communication between our waiter and us, which could have been written off as poor language skills. However, many of the girls felt that this "miscommunication" was a recurring event here in Morocco - as women we have often found that we are given sub-par service at restaurants (when we order food they'll bring us out something else and inform us after the fact that they didn't have what we ordered) and when getting taxis (which is next to impossible for whatever reason). So we set off for Paradise Beach a little grumpily.
And then the walk to the beach was a two hour endeavor. In summation: it was long and hot. The end.
The beach was as beautiful as before, even if there were a few more Spanish tourists there. We sunbathed and read our massive homework assignment for sociology: an article all about Morocco, and I do mean ALL about Morocco. Around 2, two of the girls went to find their taxi, which had come to the beach to pick them up; they told me, Elaine and Katie that they would ask the taxi to come back and pick us up at 3.
At around 2:50, the three of us started walking up the hill that ran along one edge of the beach to meet our taxi. We weren't sure where he would pick us up but saw our friend's footmarks in the sand stop a little ways up the hill, so we figured we'd walk a little further and wait for the taxi in the small bit of shade we could find. We sat down and waited for a good 30 minutes. During that time, the youngest cousin on the horse-cart from the night before passed us again, this time with a mule attached to a cart ladden with horse feed. He asked us if we wanted a ride, but the poor mule looked like he was having a really hard time of it, so we told him that we were fine with walking and he went on his way. When we finally admitted to ourselves that the taxi simply wasn't going to come for us, Katie pulled out three energy bars (claiming that we had a LONG walk ahead of us a very little sustenance to make it - really it wasn't that dramatic) and we ate them before heading off along the sand path through the fields to Asilah. The walk was very hot and very dry, and we were a bit loopy by the time we reached the main road. And who should we see riding back to us but little cousin and his empty mule cart. He had come back to give us a ride. We nearly cried when we saw him. We hopped into his cart, and he drove us back to the city, jabbering uselessly at us in dereeja because he didn't know Spanish, unlike his cousins. We nodded and smiled and pretended like we had a clue what he was saying, because he was so nice in giving us a ride.
When we made it back to the hotel, we managed to relax for a while before heading off to dinner - seafood again. Very good seafood, as well. And very much still alive. The plate that they brought out to show us was ladden with lobsters that were still twitching at us. It was relatively un-nerving. After dinner we went back to the hotel and looked at the stars, which still twinkled in a familiar northern pattern, even if we were on another continent.
Day Three:
The next morning we packed up our stuff, checked out of our hotel, and walked to find a breakfast of cheese omlettes, chocolate filled croissants and cafe ole. After breakfast we caught a taxi to the train station and got onto the train, which had the worst air circulation of any mode of transporation I have yet to have the misfortune of being on. By the time the train pulled into the train station at Fes, we were all dripping sweat and desperate to breathe fresh air again. I have no possible clue how the women who were wearing jilabas and head scarves didn't faint dead away. There are some hardy women here in Morocco.
I heard it's snowing in Minnesota. That is really, really sad. It's super hot here, which I'm not so sure I prefer to the snow. I'd like a happy medium for us all.
Stay well!
i rode in a horse cart. what? i rode in a horse cart.
I went to Asilah, a little village near the coast, this weekend. Here is how things went down.
Day One.
I got up at 5:30 to take a taxi from Batha (closest hub) to the train station for a 6:50 train. Kirsten, a girl on the trip, walked with me; the night guard, who watches over the neighborhood until sometime mid-morning, walked with us. It was nice to have a male presence there, just in case. It was not so nice that he felt the need to pull the back of both mine and Kirsten's shirts down, like we were showing off too much flesh (of which there was none visible) or were being too skanky (a label which realistically cannot be applied to either of us). We thanked him awkwardly, and he nodded gravely like he had done us some vital service. We were happy to be rid of him when we finally got a taxi to the train station.
Our group of 9 girls hopped on to the train at around 6:30. It was old and rather dirty, but we had individual compartments and the train was red. Hogwarts Express jokes took up about 30 minutes of the ride. Talking about Harry Potter in general was another few minutes. The rest of the time was girl gossip, which seems to be characterize 90% of our conversations. Example #2334 of there being way too much estrogen on this trip. We switched trains at Sidi Kacem, and for the rest of that train ride I slept. Well, almost all of it - I woke up when some train worker shoved me roughly on the shoulder to see my ticket. He was apparently grumpy and I was unhappy at being woken up so rudely. We had a glarefest. Not sure who won.
When we finally got off the train it was with relief. We had watched the ocean slowly come into view for a good 15 minutes, and were itching to get into the water. At least, the rest of the group was. As is typical with me, I forgot my swimsuit, arguably the single most important thing to bring to a beach vacation. So I was excited to go buy a swimsuit. We caught a ride into Asilah with a super sketchy but cheap van/taxi, and arrived at our hotel without incident. The hotel was relatively cheap and very clean, and (like almost all of the buildings in Asilah) was whitewashed. There were green and blue mosaic tiles on the walls of the room and the floor tiles were green and blue; the windows were closed off by green shutters, and the doors were green. It was a cute hotel.
After checking in and paying our room fee for the night, we headed off to get lunch. Using our LonelyPlanet travel guide we found a good restaurant near the Medina (old city) that served both traditional Moroccan dishes and the local delicacy: fresh seafood. I got spaghetti with "fruits of the sea", which ended up being small shrimp and a mystery fish. The mystery fish was questionable but the shrimp was good. As was the sword fish that other girls got.
After lunch, two other girls and I went to the Medina to try and find a swimsuit while the rest of the group headed to find a taxi to Paradise Beach. In the medina we were informed that the shops had closed for the afternoon because it was Friday, the Muslim holy day, and everyone had gone home for a big lunch of cous cous. So we gave up the swimsuit hunt and caught a taxi to the beach, which we would soon realize was very far off the beaten path. The taxi had to manuever through the twists and turns of a dirt/sand road that wound its way through agricultural fields and desert brakken for a good few miles before beginning the descent down towards the beach. But what a breathtaking descent! The ocean was a clear blue with a decent sized swell, and the sand was dark on the beach where the tide had rushed in and trampled by hooves where multiple horses had been walked by their owners. There were three small shacks that served as restaurants, a few chairs spread along the length of the beach, and only a few beachgoers. The beach was framed by yellow hills on the far side, and the greenery was low shrubs and small trees. There was an afternoon mist over the far side of the beach. It was very beautiful.
We told our taxi to return for us at 6:30, just after sunset, and set out our towels to catch some sun. By 5, however, it was starting to get dark and too chilly for laying out. So we decided to start walking towards the road in the hopes of meeting our taxi along the way. During our walk we were passed by a horse cart with three boys who asked us if we were going to Asilah. As a typical response to Moroccan men we ignored them, and they drove past us. But a few minutes later we saw one of the boys waiting for us further up the path. He asked if we were going to Asilah in Spanish (side note: almost everyone in Asilah spoke fluent Spanish. It was so nice to FINALLY understand what someone was telling me without needing some sort of translation) and we said yes. He asked if we wanted a ride on the cart, telling us that he didn't want any money, just to help us out. We were reluctant but he and his friends didn't seem like trouble, so we got into the cart.
Through a roughly translated Spanish conversation, we found out that the boys were all cousins. The owner of the cart and horse was Jamal, who was 21; the others were Ahmed, 17, and a little cousin of and uncertain name who was 15. They tried to teach us how to say "I am 20 years old" in Dereeja, but we've all forgotten by now. They also sang songs for us, told us the names of random objects in Dereeja, and asked us questions about America.
The ride itself was wonderful. The sun was setting on the horizon in a wash of purple, pink and orange, and it was so quant to be bouncing along in the back of a cart through fields of melons and yellow sand. Despite Ahmed attempting to hold my hand (and succeeding for about 5 minutes while I awkwardly wondered if I should tell him I was unfortunately off the market - until his cousins made fun of him and he dropped my hand), the entire adventure was one I'll never forget. After dropping Ahmed and little cousin off at their respective houses, Jamal drove us as far as he could with his horse cart, and then dropped us off at a well-lit street and pointed us in the direction of our hotel. He was friendly and waved goodbye after we thanked him profusely for the ride.
After we put our stuff in our hotel room, we all went out for dinner. I had a Spanish omlette. It is my new love. It is the only thing I will cook for my future family.
See next blog for days two and three...
Day One.
I got up at 5:30 to take a taxi from Batha (closest hub) to the train station for a 6:50 train. Kirsten, a girl on the trip, walked with me; the night guard, who watches over the neighborhood until sometime mid-morning, walked with us. It was nice to have a male presence there, just in case. It was not so nice that he felt the need to pull the back of both mine and Kirsten's shirts down, like we were showing off too much flesh (of which there was none visible) or were being too skanky (a label which realistically cannot be applied to either of us). We thanked him awkwardly, and he nodded gravely like he had done us some vital service. We were happy to be rid of him when we finally got a taxi to the train station.
Our group of 9 girls hopped on to the train at around 6:30. It was old and rather dirty, but we had individual compartments and the train was red. Hogwarts Express jokes took up about 30 minutes of the ride. Talking about Harry Potter in general was another few minutes. The rest of the time was girl gossip, which seems to be characterize 90% of our conversations. Example #2334 of there being way too much estrogen on this trip. We switched trains at Sidi Kacem, and for the rest of that train ride I slept. Well, almost all of it - I woke up when some train worker shoved me roughly on the shoulder to see my ticket. He was apparently grumpy and I was unhappy at being woken up so rudely. We had a glarefest. Not sure who won.
When we finally got off the train it was with relief. We had watched the ocean slowly come into view for a good 15 minutes, and were itching to get into the water. At least, the rest of the group was. As is typical with me, I forgot my swimsuit, arguably the single most important thing to bring to a beach vacation. So I was excited to go buy a swimsuit. We caught a ride into Asilah with a super sketchy but cheap van/taxi, and arrived at our hotel without incident. The hotel was relatively cheap and very clean, and (like almost all of the buildings in Asilah) was whitewashed. There were green and blue mosaic tiles on the walls of the room and the floor tiles were green and blue; the windows were closed off by green shutters, and the doors were green. It was a cute hotel.
After checking in and paying our room fee for the night, we headed off to get lunch. Using our LonelyPlanet travel guide we found a good restaurant near the Medina (old city) that served both traditional Moroccan dishes and the local delicacy: fresh seafood. I got spaghetti with "fruits of the sea", which ended up being small shrimp and a mystery fish. The mystery fish was questionable but the shrimp was good. As was the sword fish that other girls got.
After lunch, two other girls and I went to the Medina to try and find a swimsuit while the rest of the group headed to find a taxi to Paradise Beach. In the medina we were informed that the shops had closed for the afternoon because it was Friday, the Muslim holy day, and everyone had gone home for a big lunch of cous cous. So we gave up the swimsuit hunt and caught a taxi to the beach, which we would soon realize was very far off the beaten path. The taxi had to manuever through the twists and turns of a dirt/sand road that wound its way through agricultural fields and desert brakken for a good few miles before beginning the descent down towards the beach. But what a breathtaking descent! The ocean was a clear blue with a decent sized swell, and the sand was dark on the beach where the tide had rushed in and trampled by hooves where multiple horses had been walked by their owners. There were three small shacks that served as restaurants, a few chairs spread along the length of the beach, and only a few beachgoers. The beach was framed by yellow hills on the far side, and the greenery was low shrubs and small trees. There was an afternoon mist over the far side of the beach. It was very beautiful.
We told our taxi to return for us at 6:30, just after sunset, and set out our towels to catch some sun. By 5, however, it was starting to get dark and too chilly for laying out. So we decided to start walking towards the road in the hopes of meeting our taxi along the way. During our walk we were passed by a horse cart with three boys who asked us if we were going to Asilah. As a typical response to Moroccan men we ignored them, and they drove past us. But a few minutes later we saw one of the boys waiting for us further up the path. He asked if we were going to Asilah in Spanish (side note: almost everyone in Asilah spoke fluent Spanish. It was so nice to FINALLY understand what someone was telling me without needing some sort of translation) and we said yes. He asked if we wanted a ride on the cart, telling us that he didn't want any money, just to help us out. We were reluctant but he and his friends didn't seem like trouble, so we got into the cart.
Through a roughly translated Spanish conversation, we found out that the boys were all cousins. The owner of the cart and horse was Jamal, who was 21; the others were Ahmed, 17, and a little cousin of and uncertain name who was 15. They tried to teach us how to say "I am 20 years old" in Dereeja, but we've all forgotten by now. They also sang songs for us, told us the names of random objects in Dereeja, and asked us questions about America.
The ride itself was wonderful. The sun was setting on the horizon in a wash of purple, pink and orange, and it was so quant to be bouncing along in the back of a cart through fields of melons and yellow sand. Despite Ahmed attempting to hold my hand (and succeeding for about 5 minutes while I awkwardly wondered if I should tell him I was unfortunately off the market - until his cousins made fun of him and he dropped my hand), the entire adventure was one I'll never forget. After dropping Ahmed and little cousin off at their respective houses, Jamal drove us as far as he could with his horse cart, and then dropped us off at a well-lit street and pointed us in the direction of our hotel. He was friendly and waved goodbye after we thanked him profusely for the ride.
After we put our stuff in our hotel room, we all went out for dinner. I had a Spanish omlette. It is my new love. It is the only thing I will cook for my future family.
See next blog for days two and three...
Friday, October 2, 2009
seriously. i can't eat any more.
Salam uAlakum!
I'm in Morocco now, and enjoying my homestay immensely. My host family consists of Jamal, our host dad and the man of the house (28 ish), his wife Fadua (young, although I'm not sure how young...younger than Jamal, I would say), his two children SiMohammed (Simou for short - 6 years and 9 months) and Zizou (I'm sure this kid has a full name but I have no idea what it is - he just turned three a few days ago), his sister Majda (21), and his mother whose name Jill and I have yet to determine. We call her Grandma.
Here is what a normal day at the House of Jamal looks like.
Jill and I get up around 7:45 and get ready in our room, which is a floor below the main house. The house itself is more of an apartment, taking up the top floor of the building with one room (our room) on a lower floor. Then we go upstairs for breakfasts, saying hello to Jamal and Fadua before we eat what is normally a meal of bread, butter and jam. Jamal recently got into a car accident (around 10 days before we arrived at his front door), so he's been confined largely to one room in the house. Jill and I feel really bad for him - he broke his arm and leg and has multiple face lacerations and who knows how many other injuries - so we try to sit down and talk a bit with him whenever we go to the "Big House". He knows a bit of English that he learned in high school, and it's been really nice to get to know him and the family without an extreme language barrier.
We walk to class then with a big group of people, which usually takes around 45 minutes. It's really hot here on a fairly regular basis, but we've been trying to cover up as best we can to be more culturally aware of the modesty required for most women here as far as dress is concerned. Then we'll have Arabic language class or a class on Moroccan society at the Arabic Language Institute in Fes. Class mostly consists of us staring semi-intently at the teacher while we pretend to know what they're talking about. Really we have no clue. They're not very good at explaining themselves or having a point to their lectures at all...
At around 1 we go back to our house to eat lunch. Lunch is the biggest meal of the day for Moroccan families, which is hard to stomach sometimes because it isn't such a big deal in the states. We eat with out hands out of a common bowl and use bread as our utensils. Jill and I both had colds coming in to the homestay experience, and now that we're getting over ours, our host families are starting to get the sniffles. Wonder why. Lunch usually consists of some sort of salad (not with leafy greens, mind you - sometimes salty carrots, sometimes a mixture of parsley and tomatoes and onions) and a main dish of potatoes and chicken, followed by fruit. We eat until we're full, and then Grandma grabs my thigh (because I inevitably sit next to her) and says "Kul! Kul!" which means, "Eat! Eat!" and pushes more food towards me. This goes on until I absolutely refuse. By then I'm so full it's obscene. Grandma is going to be the death of me.
After lunch we'll go back to school for evening classes, or we'll stay in the living room and do homework. at some point the kids come over and bother us, and we play with them for a while until they get bored. Or I start to ignore them. I'm not really good with kids, but they seem not to notice. One of Zizou's favorite games, by the way, is to run over my feet with his little bike. When I put my feet up on the couch, he hefts the bike up just so he can put the tires on my toes. He's an adorable little brat.
We eat dinner around 10 at night. Last night we had brinner, which I'm not sure Fadua, Grandma and Majda were aware of. Jill and I were ecstatic. The meal was a bowl of creamed rice that we added sugar to, with pomegranates and vanilla yogurt as side dishes. Grandma is diabetic but she was ladling sugar into her bowl like there was no tomorrow. Her diabetes must be selective. As long as she's happy and continues to giggle at us, Grandma can have all the sugar she wants.
Our family is super sweet. Grandma and Fadua laugh at us when we do funny American things, like eat too little or ask how to work a wash board when cleaning our clothes. Majda speaks English, so it's so wonderful to talk to her about what it's like to be our age in Morocco. She's so modern - she wears skinny jeans every day and talks on AIM to her friends. We're Facebook friends, which obviously means we'll be bffls.
All in all, I'm having such a great time at my homestay, even if it makes me miss Minnesota. I'm collecting such stories and memories, though, that it makes the trip completely worthwhile.
I hope you all remain in good health.
B'slama!
I'm in Morocco now, and enjoying my homestay immensely. My host family consists of Jamal, our host dad and the man of the house (28 ish), his wife Fadua (young, although I'm not sure how young...younger than Jamal, I would say), his two children SiMohammed (Simou for short - 6 years and 9 months) and Zizou (I'm sure this kid has a full name but I have no idea what it is - he just turned three a few days ago), his sister Majda (21), and his mother whose name Jill and I have yet to determine. We call her Grandma.
Here is what a normal day at the House of Jamal looks like.
Jill and I get up around 7:45 and get ready in our room, which is a floor below the main house. The house itself is more of an apartment, taking up the top floor of the building with one room (our room) on a lower floor. Then we go upstairs for breakfasts, saying hello to Jamal and Fadua before we eat what is normally a meal of bread, butter and jam. Jamal recently got into a car accident (around 10 days before we arrived at his front door), so he's been confined largely to one room in the house. Jill and I feel really bad for him - he broke his arm and leg and has multiple face lacerations and who knows how many other injuries - so we try to sit down and talk a bit with him whenever we go to the "Big House". He knows a bit of English that he learned in high school, and it's been really nice to get to know him and the family without an extreme language barrier.
We walk to class then with a big group of people, which usually takes around 45 minutes. It's really hot here on a fairly regular basis, but we've been trying to cover up as best we can to be more culturally aware of the modesty required for most women here as far as dress is concerned. Then we'll have Arabic language class or a class on Moroccan society at the Arabic Language Institute in Fes. Class mostly consists of us staring semi-intently at the teacher while we pretend to know what they're talking about. Really we have no clue. They're not very good at explaining themselves or having a point to their lectures at all...
At around 1 we go back to our house to eat lunch. Lunch is the biggest meal of the day for Moroccan families, which is hard to stomach sometimes because it isn't such a big deal in the states. We eat with out hands out of a common bowl and use bread as our utensils. Jill and I both had colds coming in to the homestay experience, and now that we're getting over ours, our host families are starting to get the sniffles. Wonder why. Lunch usually consists of some sort of salad (not with leafy greens, mind you - sometimes salty carrots, sometimes a mixture of parsley and tomatoes and onions) and a main dish of potatoes and chicken, followed by fruit. We eat until we're full, and then Grandma grabs my thigh (because I inevitably sit next to her) and says "Kul! Kul!" which means, "Eat! Eat!" and pushes more food towards me. This goes on until I absolutely refuse. By then I'm so full it's obscene. Grandma is going to be the death of me.
After lunch we'll go back to school for evening classes, or we'll stay in the living room and do homework. at some point the kids come over and bother us, and we play with them for a while until they get bored. Or I start to ignore them. I'm not really good with kids, but they seem not to notice. One of Zizou's favorite games, by the way, is to run over my feet with his little bike. When I put my feet up on the couch, he hefts the bike up just so he can put the tires on my toes. He's an adorable little brat.
We eat dinner around 10 at night. Last night we had brinner, which I'm not sure Fadua, Grandma and Majda were aware of. Jill and I were ecstatic. The meal was a bowl of creamed rice that we added sugar to, with pomegranates and vanilla yogurt as side dishes. Grandma is diabetic but she was ladling sugar into her bowl like there was no tomorrow. Her diabetes must be selective. As long as she's happy and continues to giggle at us, Grandma can have all the sugar she wants.
Our family is super sweet. Grandma and Fadua laugh at us when we do funny American things, like eat too little or ask how to work a wash board when cleaning our clothes. Majda speaks English, so it's so wonderful to talk to her about what it's like to be our age in Morocco. She's so modern - she wears skinny jeans every day and talks on AIM to her friends. We're Facebook friends, which obviously means we'll be bffls.
All in all, I'm having such a great time at my homestay, even if it makes me miss Minnesota. I'm collecting such stories and memories, though, that it makes the trip completely worthwhile.
I hope you all remain in good health.
B'slama!
Monday, September 28, 2009
i've seen a lot of rocks in my day.
Excursion throughout Turkey is over now. I wrote this blog sitting in an airport in Madrid, waiting for the plane to Casablanca. Where of course I met Humphrey Bogart. I'll add that to my list of movie magic times abroad, right up there with seeing the Troy horse Brad Pitt touched. Epic.
We did a lot of touring around the Turkish countryside, and looked at a lot of ruins. Although listening to the history of the country while seeing the physical remains of those stories was a very visceral experience, the scenes all tended to blend together in a jumble of broken rocks towards the end of the trip. Because of that, I will give you highlights only of the best parts of the last week.
On Saturday the 19th we went to Pergamum (Bergama in Turkish). The ancient city is at the top of a large hill/mountain that our bus wound its way up, hugging the sides of the road and scaring the girls who are afraid of heights. The best part of Pergamum was the temple of Athena, situated on the highest part of the mountain overlooking the city and hills below. The temple was still very well maintained and majestic, mostly because we knew that in the ancient world it had commanded respect.
That day we also went to the ruins of Assos, located on a hill right by the sea. Here the temple overlooked the wide ocean and small blue bays where fishing boats were anchored, backed by the cliffs and hills of Assos. This site was the most peaceful to be at.
On Monday the 21st we went to Ephesus, where I got extremely sick. Despite that, Ephesus (Efus in Turkish) was my favorite set of ruins. The city is one of the most intact sites I've seen, perhaps even more well preserved than Pompeii. There was an entire area devoted to excavating the houses of the rich, which were decorated with elaborate frescoes and intricate tile mosaic floors. The downtown area of the city was still extremely complete, and because there were so many tourists in Ephesus that day, it was very easy to imagine the ancient city bustling with Romans and locals. It was easy to imagine John the Evangelist walking among the people, encouraging the church of Ephesus to grow despite persecution by the Roman power. Going to Ephesus is truly like stepping back in time.
On Wednesday the 23rd we went to Cappadocia, where there is an area of calcified land turned snow white. The local government pumps thermal water into man-made pools in this area once every few days, and the pools are crystal clear with a tint of blue against the calcium white of the land. It looks like winter there, but the calcium deposits are warm and so is the water.
Our Turkish excursion was very fun and extremely informative, but I'm ready to be in Morocco. Jill (my freshman and sophomore year roommate) is my roommate again for our homestays, and I'm happy to be with someone familiar. Truthfully I'm a bit nervous about the homestay. It will be interesting to adapt to the language and cultural routines of the people in Morocco, knowing as I do how different they can be from Western lifestyles.
Eh. I'll have fun. No matter what.
Wish me luck! All my best.
P.S. I edited the settings of my blog to let viewers who do not have a gmail account post comments as anonymous users. Just so you know...
We did a lot of touring around the Turkish countryside, and looked at a lot of ruins. Although listening to the history of the country while seeing the physical remains of those stories was a very visceral experience, the scenes all tended to blend together in a jumble of broken rocks towards the end of the trip. Because of that, I will give you highlights only of the best parts of the last week.
On Saturday the 19th we went to Pergamum (Bergama in Turkish). The ancient city is at the top of a large hill/mountain that our bus wound its way up, hugging the sides of the road and scaring the girls who are afraid of heights. The best part of Pergamum was the temple of Athena, situated on the highest part of the mountain overlooking the city and hills below. The temple was still very well maintained and majestic, mostly because we knew that in the ancient world it had commanded respect.
That day we also went to the ruins of Assos, located on a hill right by the sea. Here the temple overlooked the wide ocean and small blue bays where fishing boats were anchored, backed by the cliffs and hills of Assos. This site was the most peaceful to be at.
On Monday the 21st we went to Ephesus, where I got extremely sick. Despite that, Ephesus (Efus in Turkish) was my favorite set of ruins. The city is one of the most intact sites I've seen, perhaps even more well preserved than Pompeii. There was an entire area devoted to excavating the houses of the rich, which were decorated with elaborate frescoes and intricate tile mosaic floors. The downtown area of the city was still extremely complete, and because there were so many tourists in Ephesus that day, it was very easy to imagine the ancient city bustling with Romans and locals. It was easy to imagine John the Evangelist walking among the people, encouraging the church of Ephesus to grow despite persecution by the Roman power. Going to Ephesus is truly like stepping back in time.
On Wednesday the 23rd we went to Cappadocia, where there is an area of calcified land turned snow white. The local government pumps thermal water into man-made pools in this area once every few days, and the pools are crystal clear with a tint of blue against the calcium white of the land. It looks like winter there, but the calcium deposits are warm and so is the water.
Our Turkish excursion was very fun and extremely informative, but I'm ready to be in Morocco. Jill (my freshman and sophomore year roommate) is my roommate again for our homestays, and I'm happy to be with someone familiar. Truthfully I'm a bit nervous about the homestay. It will be interesting to adapt to the language and cultural routines of the people in Morocco, knowing as I do how different they can be from Western lifestyles.
Eh. I'll have fun. No matter what.
Wish me luck! All my best.
P.S. I edited the settings of my blog to let viewers who do not have a gmail account post comments as anonymous users. Just so you know...
Saturday, September 19, 2009
i suck at this.
So...a lot of cool stuff happened between the last time I posted and now. But I'm just going to pick up from yesterday and add the cool things from the last week in later.
Yesterday marked the first day of our excursions around Turkey. Our tour guide wanted us on the bus by 7 in the morning, which was not funny. However, the fact that she completely color coordinates her outfits is funny. She was wearing a purple shirt, purple pants, purple socks, and purple jewelry. Today she was in all grey. And she absolutely adores yogurt. Whenever we stop for food she points out all the places with yogurt. Turkish yogurt is disgusting, FYI.
Anyway. 7 in the morning. We left Istanbul on a tour bus, and not much more but sleeping happened until we arrived at Edirne to see one of the most amazing mosques I've been in. And that's saying something. Because we've seen a whole lot of mosques. This one was built by Sulehman (that's probably not how you spell his name... whatever) who was a really famous Ottoman architect. The inside of the mosque was huge. The point is to make the believer feel really insignificant. It worked. Just saying.
There's something extremely elegant about the pews and stain glass of a church, but the intricate carpets on the floors of the mosques and arching domes with detailed paintings of flowers and geometric shapes certainly hold their own beauty. Mosques are comfortably overwhelming in a way that old European churches can't easily imitate. As a non-Muslim, I can still appreciate how wonderful the architectural design of the mosque at Edirne is. I can still fell a sense of reverence for Allah in the building - a reverence to a God who is my God too.
After Edirne, we traveled on to a World War One memorial. The site was absolutely gorgeous, bordered on one end by the deep blue sea and on the other by yellow cliffs and hills with short bracken and shrubbery. It was refreshing to sit on the beach and watch the sea, but also hallowing to know that thousands of men had died on the same beach. Turkey is relatively overlooked in our history class discussions of WWI, but the same sorts of horrors seen by the British, German, French and American soldiers that we normally hear about were seen by the Turks as well. There was a memorial at the sight that shared the words of Ataturk, the founder of the Turkish Republic - the inscription read something like, Those sons that died on our land are now our sons. They rest in honor as sons of our country.
...or something like that. It was much more elegant that I remember...
After the war memorial, we went to Troy. Wait backtrack. First we saw the Trojan horse that was in the movie Troy. BRAD PITT WAS ON THAT HORSE. No worries, I have pictures to prove that I saw it. It was a thing of beauty.
And then we went to Troy.
The actual Troy was pretty generic as ruins go. There were the remains of houses and temples and shopping areas. What made the visit so exciting was my previous knowledge of the legend of Troy, having read both the Iliad and the Aeneid. It was fun to imagine the stories of Priam, Paris and Helen, Agamemnon and Menelaus, Achilles and Patriklus play out in the ruins.
And of course I quoted the movie. Because I adore that movie. And I know the best quotes by heart.
The Turkish countryside is breathtaking. It reminds me strongly of the tiny bit I've seen of Tuscany, only the colors are more muted. The mountains are framed by blue sky and are covered with pine trees. The sea shore is rocky and the islands are green. The water is varying shades of turquoise. There are deltas and peninsulas that jut out into the seas and channels.
...this is hard to explain. I'll post pictures.
I hope you are all well, and continue to stay healthy and happy. All my best!
Yesterday marked the first day of our excursions around Turkey. Our tour guide wanted us on the bus by 7 in the morning, which was not funny. However, the fact that she completely color coordinates her outfits is funny. She was wearing a purple shirt, purple pants, purple socks, and purple jewelry. Today she was in all grey. And she absolutely adores yogurt. Whenever we stop for food she points out all the places with yogurt. Turkish yogurt is disgusting, FYI.
Anyway. 7 in the morning. We left Istanbul on a tour bus, and not much more but sleeping happened until we arrived at Edirne to see one of the most amazing mosques I've been in. And that's saying something. Because we've seen a whole lot of mosques. This one was built by Sulehman (that's probably not how you spell his name... whatever) who was a really famous Ottoman architect. The inside of the mosque was huge. The point is to make the believer feel really insignificant. It worked. Just saying.
There's something extremely elegant about the pews and stain glass of a church, but the intricate carpets on the floors of the mosques and arching domes with detailed paintings of flowers and geometric shapes certainly hold their own beauty. Mosques are comfortably overwhelming in a way that old European churches can't easily imitate. As a non-Muslim, I can still appreciate how wonderful the architectural design of the mosque at Edirne is. I can still fell a sense of reverence for Allah in the building - a reverence to a God who is my God too.
After Edirne, we traveled on to a World War One memorial. The site was absolutely gorgeous, bordered on one end by the deep blue sea and on the other by yellow cliffs and hills with short bracken and shrubbery. It was refreshing to sit on the beach and watch the sea, but also hallowing to know that thousands of men had died on the same beach. Turkey is relatively overlooked in our history class discussions of WWI, but the same sorts of horrors seen by the British, German, French and American soldiers that we normally hear about were seen by the Turks as well. There was a memorial at the sight that shared the words of Ataturk, the founder of the Turkish Republic - the inscription read something like, Those sons that died on our land are now our sons. They rest in honor as sons of our country.
...or something like that. It was much more elegant that I remember...
After the war memorial, we went to Troy. Wait backtrack. First we saw the Trojan horse that was in the movie Troy. BRAD PITT WAS ON THAT HORSE. No worries, I have pictures to prove that I saw it. It was a thing of beauty.
And then we went to Troy.
The actual Troy was pretty generic as ruins go. There were the remains of houses and temples and shopping areas. What made the visit so exciting was my previous knowledge of the legend of Troy, having read both the Iliad and the Aeneid. It was fun to imagine the stories of Priam, Paris and Helen, Agamemnon and Menelaus, Achilles and Patriklus play out in the ruins.
And of course I quoted the movie. Because I adore that movie. And I know the best quotes by heart.
The Turkish countryside is breathtaking. It reminds me strongly of the tiny bit I've seen of Tuscany, only the colors are more muted. The mountains are framed by blue sky and are covered with pine trees. The sea shore is rocky and the islands are green. The water is varying shades of turquoise. There are deltas and peninsulas that jut out into the seas and channels.
...this is hard to explain. I'll post pictures.
I hope you are all well, and continue to stay healthy and happy. All my best!
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
hello, i am embarrassing american
So...where did we leave off?
Saturday was Make Everyone In Minnesota Jealous day. Otherwise known as Beach Day. The crew all went to Askari Beach, located in Asia. That's right, Asia. The continent on which 95% of Turkey lies. Shocker: it doesn't look any different than the European side of Turkey.
The beach was gorgeous. The there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The wind, even though it was a bit annoying, provided just the right amount of releif from the heat. The water was perfectly clear and a lovely shade of blue out to sea (the Black Sea, to be exact). There were tons of people on the beach, almost all locals. Of course we found one American to talk to (which happens everywhere we go - you'd be surprised how recognizable our St. Olaf Abroad tags are), and she told us all about her experience in Turkey. I wasn't there for the majority of the conversation. I was in the water. It was much more interesting.
Fun fact: most of the girls on the trip brough one-piece swimsuits on the trip because we were told modesty was going to be a big deal in all of the countries we went to. However, we looked like grandmas at Askari Beach. Every girl there had a bikini on. Even women who probably shouldn't have had bikinis on had bikinis on. I'm glad we brought our one-pieces for Morocco and Egypt, but we definitely stood out in Turkey. As if we didn't look embarrassingly like tourists already.
Sunday was a really full day. Bright and early in the morning we went to a Greek Orthodox Church service. The Greek Orthodox Church is really interesting - they're pretty much Catholic except for a few fundamental differences. If you asked me what those differences were I couldn't tell you. The Greek Orthodox Church is also really into icon worship. Basically that means that Orthodox Christians worship relics of the church, pictures, symbols, etc. They kissed the pictures of Jesus, Mary, the Prophets, the Apostles and other important religious figures in the church. They kissed the coffins of saints that were also there. They kissed boxes and bibles and candles. They kissed pretty much everything, and crossed themselves after each kiss. Extremely different from my Baptist upbringing. We don't kiss. We shake hands.
The service was conducted in Greek (it was three hours of very beautiful but nonsensical chanting) and there was a lot of kissing and bowing and crossing and displaying of icons. A really important guy was there, but I don't remember why he is important. I think it's because he's like the pope of the Greek Orthodox Church in Istanbul. Either way, there was a lot of bowing to him and kissing his hand and crossing towards his general direction. The Church itself is really beautiful, and completely covered in gold. The altar is behind a wall which the layman is not allowed to go behind. I don't really know what goes on near the altar - it's all very mysterious. And there are very few seats for the people to watch the service. Probably because there are so many annoying tourists in the Church at all points in time. Ahem.
After the church service, a group of us attempted to navigate the streets of Istanbul to find an ancient church named the Chora (the code name for Mary. I don't know why it's in code. They could have just called it 'Mary'). We got a bit lost and had to ask for directions. A local with a stool and shoe shining tools said he would show us where the church was. We trekked up this ridiculous hill (I pretty much died half-way up) to find the church, which was located in a very suburban area very removed from the typical tourist track. This was one of the definitive points about the church - at one time, it would have been entirely outside of the city limits. In fact, you could walk to the old city wall from the church.
The Chora is absolutely gorgeous. It was covered with priceless mosaics, in such intricate shades and textures that they looked like fine paintings from afar. We didn't have a tour guide so we used Annika's 'Rick Steves' guidebook to figure out some of the more interesting mosaics. I would say that the Chora is probably the prettiest church we've been too, and the most off of the beaten path. The ancient idea of biblical stories is so interesting to see expressed in art, considering our modern idea of the same stories is tainted by modern artistic movements. The concept of representation through mosaic is something so wonderful, it's a shame it's not en mode now. My favorite painting (because there were frescos too) was of an angel holding "the cosmos" on its back. The cosmos looks like a sea shell, and has a sun and a moon. It's gorgeous.
After the church, we went to a Roman cistern that was built in the 3rd century or so. Acutally...I'm probably making that date up. Anyway, the cistern was a huge cavern with a bunch of pillars where they used to store the water that would go to the city. It was lit up very artistically with red lights, and there was fish in the small amount of water left for atmospheric effect in the cistern. The colums were stolen from parts of the conquered Roman Empire, so they were a hodge-podge of architectural designs. There were two Medusa columns in the very back, which basically means that there were two stolen blocks with a depiction of Medusa's face underneath two seperate columns. One face was upside down, the other face was on it's side. Good stuff. All in all a fun experience, if only because I felt like I was in the Mines of Moria from the Lord of the Rings. Embarrassing.
After the cistern, a few of us went to the Turkish and Islamic Art Museum, which was really just a collection of ancient artifacts from around Turkey. It was really cool, but I think I might have had a bit too much of history these past few weeks. Things start to look really similar, and the interest quickly faded on my part. There was, however, a really interesting ethnographic display at the museum detailing the life of Turkish women in the past, from nomadic tent dwellers to upper class women living in luxury. It was really fun to see the kind of living and working conditions of Muslim Turkish women from the 14th century on. Rick Steves, who is pretty much the guidebook god, led us through the entire exhibit. We were baffled by his omnipotence.
After the Turkish and Islamic Art Museum, Annika made our group (which consisted of Annika, Colin, me, Katie, Kat, Elaine and Jill) take the most ridiculous picture at a gaudy costume shop in Sultanahmet. While we were putting our costumes on, a huge crowd gathered around the stand to watch us. We looked completely silly and were laughing so hard, I'm not surprised people stared. They most likely thought we were stupid Americans. That particular adventure would fall under the non-successful cultural expreience category. Alas.
I hope you've all been having a beautiful fall in the states. I miss the colors of autumn. And sugary cereal.
Allahaismarladik!
Saturday was Make Everyone In Minnesota Jealous day. Otherwise known as Beach Day. The crew all went to Askari Beach, located in Asia. That's right, Asia. The continent on which 95% of Turkey lies. Shocker: it doesn't look any different than the European side of Turkey.
The beach was gorgeous. The there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The wind, even though it was a bit annoying, provided just the right amount of releif from the heat. The water was perfectly clear and a lovely shade of blue out to sea (the Black Sea, to be exact). There were tons of people on the beach, almost all locals. Of course we found one American to talk to (which happens everywhere we go - you'd be surprised how recognizable our St. Olaf Abroad tags are), and she told us all about her experience in Turkey. I wasn't there for the majority of the conversation. I was in the water. It was much more interesting.
Fun fact: most of the girls on the trip brough one-piece swimsuits on the trip because we were told modesty was going to be a big deal in all of the countries we went to. However, we looked like grandmas at Askari Beach. Every girl there had a bikini on. Even women who probably shouldn't have had bikinis on had bikinis on. I'm glad we brought our one-pieces for Morocco and Egypt, but we definitely stood out in Turkey. As if we didn't look embarrassingly like tourists already.
Sunday was a really full day. Bright and early in the morning we went to a Greek Orthodox Church service. The Greek Orthodox Church is really interesting - they're pretty much Catholic except for a few fundamental differences. If you asked me what those differences were I couldn't tell you. The Greek Orthodox Church is also really into icon worship. Basically that means that Orthodox Christians worship relics of the church, pictures, symbols, etc. They kissed the pictures of Jesus, Mary, the Prophets, the Apostles and other important religious figures in the church. They kissed the coffins of saints that were also there. They kissed boxes and bibles and candles. They kissed pretty much everything, and crossed themselves after each kiss. Extremely different from my Baptist upbringing. We don't kiss. We shake hands.
The service was conducted in Greek (it was three hours of very beautiful but nonsensical chanting) and there was a lot of kissing and bowing and crossing and displaying of icons. A really important guy was there, but I don't remember why he is important. I think it's because he's like the pope of the Greek Orthodox Church in Istanbul. Either way, there was a lot of bowing to him and kissing his hand and crossing towards his general direction. The Church itself is really beautiful, and completely covered in gold. The altar is behind a wall which the layman is not allowed to go behind. I don't really know what goes on near the altar - it's all very mysterious. And there are very few seats for the people to watch the service. Probably because there are so many annoying tourists in the Church at all points in time. Ahem.
After the church service, a group of us attempted to navigate the streets of Istanbul to find an ancient church named the Chora (the code name for Mary. I don't know why it's in code. They could have just called it 'Mary'). We got a bit lost and had to ask for directions. A local with a stool and shoe shining tools said he would show us where the church was. We trekked up this ridiculous hill (I pretty much died half-way up) to find the church, which was located in a very suburban area very removed from the typical tourist track. This was one of the definitive points about the church - at one time, it would have been entirely outside of the city limits. In fact, you could walk to the old city wall from the church.
The Chora is absolutely gorgeous. It was covered with priceless mosaics, in such intricate shades and textures that they looked like fine paintings from afar. We didn't have a tour guide so we used Annika's 'Rick Steves' guidebook to figure out some of the more interesting mosaics. I would say that the Chora is probably the prettiest church we've been too, and the most off of the beaten path. The ancient idea of biblical stories is so interesting to see expressed in art, considering our modern idea of the same stories is tainted by modern artistic movements. The concept of representation through mosaic is something so wonderful, it's a shame it's not en mode now. My favorite painting (because there were frescos too) was of an angel holding "the cosmos" on its back. The cosmos looks like a sea shell, and has a sun and a moon. It's gorgeous.
After the church, we went to a Roman cistern that was built in the 3rd century or so. Acutally...I'm probably making that date up. Anyway, the cistern was a huge cavern with a bunch of pillars where they used to store the water that would go to the city. It was lit up very artistically with red lights, and there was fish in the small amount of water left for atmospheric effect in the cistern. The colums were stolen from parts of the conquered Roman Empire, so they were a hodge-podge of architectural designs. There were two Medusa columns in the very back, which basically means that there were two stolen blocks with a depiction of Medusa's face underneath two seperate columns. One face was upside down, the other face was on it's side. Good stuff. All in all a fun experience, if only because I felt like I was in the Mines of Moria from the Lord of the Rings. Embarrassing.
After the cistern, a few of us went to the Turkish and Islamic Art Museum, which was really just a collection of ancient artifacts from around Turkey. It was really cool, but I think I might have had a bit too much of history these past few weeks. Things start to look really similar, and the interest quickly faded on my part. There was, however, a really interesting ethnographic display at the museum detailing the life of Turkish women in the past, from nomadic tent dwellers to upper class women living in luxury. It was really fun to see the kind of living and working conditions of Muslim Turkish women from the 14th century on. Rick Steves, who is pretty much the guidebook god, led us through the entire exhibit. We were baffled by his omnipotence.
After the Turkish and Islamic Art Museum, Annika made our group (which consisted of Annika, Colin, me, Katie, Kat, Elaine and Jill) take the most ridiculous picture at a gaudy costume shop in Sultanahmet. While we were putting our costumes on, a huge crowd gathered around the stand to watch us. We looked completely silly and were laughing so hard, I'm not surprised people stared. They most likely thought we were stupid Americans. That particular adventure would fall under the non-successful cultural expreience category. Alas.
I hope you've all been having a beautiful fall in the states. I miss the colors of autumn. And sugary cereal.
Allahaismarladik!
Sunday, September 6, 2009
a little bit of spice, a little bit of nudity...
Okay, so apparently blogging is hard to do/keep up with when you don’t have regular internet access. No worries, however – I’m stealing internet from a wireless router located somewhere near me in the SuperDorm. Thank you tsunami, whoever you are. Sorry my friends and I have made your internet connection mysteriously slow as of late.
Ritual update:
Wednesday was Spice Bazaar day. We walked across a bridge to get to the Bazaar, which, considering Istanbul is located on both sides of the Bosphorus, is a daily occurrence – crossing the water I mean. The bridge provided a beautiful view. And smelled like throwup and fish. It was a strange and confusing combination. The Spice Bazaar on the other side is infamous and smells much better. I’m sure it was used at one time mainly to sell spices, but it has fallen prey to westernization and tourism and now sells whatever the hell you want + spices. Surprisingly enough, I had a conversation with a local merchant in Spanish. He tried to tell me that his Spanish wasn’t great considering he had only been taking classes for six months. Not only was his grammar better than mine but his accent was better too. I declined to tell him that I have been taking Spanish classes for a cumulative 7 years.
After the Spice Bazaar we went to a local café for dinner and promptly got ripped off. We were not shown a menu upon entering but told the selection of food we could purchase. The selection was small. Not a big surprise considering we were told the costliest food on the menu. Ouch. We are the worst kind of tourists and it shows. Here at TIME we like to have what we call SCEs, or Successful Cultural Encounters. This was of the unsuccessful variety. Ah, hard life lessons…
Thursday was the most epic and most nude day of the trip. For the followers who don’t know me so well, I’m sorry, but you’re officially about to get a healthy dose of TMI. A group of girls decided to go to a Turkish bath. What is a Turkish bath? Come with me on an awkward journey dear reader…
We walked into the bath and decided to screw frugality in favor of having the full service bath experience. We were shown to a room after we paid and told to take off our clothes and wrap ourselves in a thin piece of cloth. We were given little wooden shoes with a strip of leather – kind of like a poor excuse for a flip flop - and guided to the bath room. The room is heated to a slightly uncomfortable temperature, sort of like a sauna, and is square with a domed top. In the middle of the bath room there is a marble table, and all around the four walls are faucets with water basins underneath. We barely had time to look at the room before large Turkish women in underwear came and yanked off our towels. So here we were, ten girls who knew each other to varying degrees, suddenly completely naked in front of each other. All we could do was sit down next to a basin and pretend to keep what was left of our modesty. Which was just not possible. Because the big Turkish women called us over to the marble table to scrub us down with an exfoliating hand towel one at a time. Goodbye modesty! Hello full frontal flash! The best we could do was grin and bear it. Or strip and bear it?
The Turkish women talked to each other while they were scrubbing. Probably about how blindingly white I am. And about how I totally hit one of the women's boob on accident. Then we got a bubble massage. And finally we got our hair washed. I felt cleaner than I have in…my entire life. After the exfoliating scrub and bubble massage and hair wash, in typical girl fashion, all ten of us congregated on the marble table and has some good old girl talk. Entirely naked. Surprise of the day? I COMPLETELY loved the experience. Women and men alike: if you ever have the chance, GO TO A TURKISH BATH. You will not regret it. And you won’t feel so awkward about asking people to check your butt for grass stains, considering they will have seen much more than your clothed tush by then.
Friday was relatively uneventful, as far as this trip goes. We had a progressive dinner in our dorm. My room was in charge of the vegetable entrée, which consisted of chopped vegetables, cream cheese and iftar bread. More iftar bread than strictly necessary, actually. When we asked the guy at the super market for “beş ekmek lütfen”, he looked at us like we were insane for asking for five loaves of bread. I didn’t think we were crazy at the time, but when 18 of us consumed only 2 of the loaves I had to reevaluate that thought. Double ouch.
Everyone here in Turkey is still really nice. Classes are still really cool – we’re learning about the political history of Turkey, which is a turbulent and radical one. To give you a sampling: Turkey was previously a Muslim state ruled by a sultan until a man named Ataturk came and completely revolutionized the broken system in the late 20s. Not only did he make the state officially secular, but he also reformed many of the institutions that had been dominated by Turkish tradition for hundreds of years. The man was truly radical and he’s immortalized in statues and monuments across the nation, but one has to wonder, with a population that’s 99% Muslim, if his extreme ideology is truly appreciated or even respected by the majority of the Turkish population. Kat and I think discovering the answer would be a cool sociological project. Minus the impossibility of conducting any sort of survey. Alas.
I won’t write about Saturday or Sunday just yet, because I think that might be overload. Know that I am still really enjoying my trip. I highly encourage traveling abroad at any stage of life. And going to a Turkish bath. Just saying.
Allahaismarladık!
Ritual update:
Wednesday was Spice Bazaar day. We walked across a bridge to get to the Bazaar, which, considering Istanbul is located on both sides of the Bosphorus, is a daily occurrence – crossing the water I mean. The bridge provided a beautiful view. And smelled like throwup and fish. It was a strange and confusing combination. The Spice Bazaar on the other side is infamous and smells much better. I’m sure it was used at one time mainly to sell spices, but it has fallen prey to westernization and tourism and now sells whatever the hell you want + spices. Surprisingly enough, I had a conversation with a local merchant in Spanish. He tried to tell me that his Spanish wasn’t great considering he had only been taking classes for six months. Not only was his grammar better than mine but his accent was better too. I declined to tell him that I have been taking Spanish classes for a cumulative 7 years.
After the Spice Bazaar we went to a local café for dinner and promptly got ripped off. We were not shown a menu upon entering but told the selection of food we could purchase. The selection was small. Not a big surprise considering we were told the costliest food on the menu. Ouch. We are the worst kind of tourists and it shows. Here at TIME we like to have what we call SCEs, or Successful Cultural Encounters. This was of the unsuccessful variety. Ah, hard life lessons…
Thursday was the most epic and most nude day of the trip. For the followers who don’t know me so well, I’m sorry, but you’re officially about to get a healthy dose of TMI. A group of girls decided to go to a Turkish bath. What is a Turkish bath? Come with me on an awkward journey dear reader…
We walked into the bath and decided to screw frugality in favor of having the full service bath experience. We were shown to a room after we paid and told to take off our clothes and wrap ourselves in a thin piece of cloth. We were given little wooden shoes with a strip of leather – kind of like a poor excuse for a flip flop - and guided to the bath room. The room is heated to a slightly uncomfortable temperature, sort of like a sauna, and is square with a domed top. In the middle of the bath room there is a marble table, and all around the four walls are faucets with water basins underneath. We barely had time to look at the room before large Turkish women in underwear came and yanked off our towels. So here we were, ten girls who knew each other to varying degrees, suddenly completely naked in front of each other. All we could do was sit down next to a basin and pretend to keep what was left of our modesty. Which was just not possible. Because the big Turkish women called us over to the marble table to scrub us down with an exfoliating hand towel one at a time. Goodbye modesty! Hello full frontal flash! The best we could do was grin and bear it. Or strip and bear it?
The Turkish women talked to each other while they were scrubbing. Probably about how blindingly white I am. And about how I totally hit one of the women's boob on accident. Then we got a bubble massage. And finally we got our hair washed. I felt cleaner than I have in…my entire life. After the exfoliating scrub and bubble massage and hair wash, in typical girl fashion, all ten of us congregated on the marble table and has some good old girl talk. Entirely naked. Surprise of the day? I COMPLETELY loved the experience. Women and men alike: if you ever have the chance, GO TO A TURKISH BATH. You will not regret it. And you won’t feel so awkward about asking people to check your butt for grass stains, considering they will have seen much more than your clothed tush by then.
Friday was relatively uneventful, as far as this trip goes. We had a progressive dinner in our dorm. My room was in charge of the vegetable entrée, which consisted of chopped vegetables, cream cheese and iftar bread. More iftar bread than strictly necessary, actually. When we asked the guy at the super market for “beş ekmek lütfen”, he looked at us like we were insane for asking for five loaves of bread. I didn’t think we were crazy at the time, but when 18 of us consumed only 2 of the loaves I had to reevaluate that thought. Double ouch.
Everyone here in Turkey is still really nice. Classes are still really cool – we’re learning about the political history of Turkey, which is a turbulent and radical one. To give you a sampling: Turkey was previously a Muslim state ruled by a sultan until a man named Ataturk came and completely revolutionized the broken system in the late 20s. Not only did he make the state officially secular, but he also reformed many of the institutions that had been dominated by Turkish tradition for hundreds of years. The man was truly radical and he’s immortalized in statues and monuments across the nation, but one has to wonder, with a population that’s 99% Muslim, if his extreme ideology is truly appreciated or even respected by the majority of the Turkish population. Kat and I think discovering the answer would be a cool sociological project. Minus the impossibility of conducting any sort of survey. Alas.
I won’t write about Saturday or Sunday just yet, because I think that might be overload. Know that I am still really enjoying my trip. I highly encourage traveling abroad at any stage of life. And going to a Turkish bath. Just saying.
Allahaismarladık!
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
let me show you...
Merhaba!
So I don't have too much of an update this time around because we haven't gone anywhere too extravagant - everyone was busy studying for our Turkish test, which was today. And which was not hard at all. Basically, what I'm trying to say is I'm fluent in Turkish now.
Went to Bebek to study yesterday at a coffee shop. Bebek is a little part of town right along the coast where a wealthier part of the population live, and it shows. The women there look like they belong on 90210. I actually felt scuzzy. I saw only one female with a head scarf on the entire day. Quite the contrast to Sultanahmet, the neighborhood where the Hagia Sophia and Blue Mosque are located. Istanbul really is a modern city of extremes. Kind of like our own American cities...
Anyway, to orient you I figured I'd post a few pictures of Turkey. I don't have a large variety because I am extremely technologically handicapped and had to battle with my camera for a few days.
The pictures of the Blue Mosque during the day and at night, the picture of the inside of the harem, and the picture of Hagia Sophia belong to Jill Humble. She took them. I did not. They do not belong to me. So please don't steal them.
P.S. The food is absolutely wonderful. I am having no problem at all gorging my face away.
P.P.S. Turkish peanut butter is better than American peanut butter. Heresy! you may shout. However, it is the truth.
Allahaismarladik!
Side street near campus
Inside a market looking up into the street
Overlooking the Bosphorus - the land on the other side of the water is Asia
Looking down onto Bebek
A quad-like area on campus
Inside the harem at Topkopi Palace - the Sultan's Mother's apartments
Hagia Sophia
The Blue Mosque at night. The Muslims are celebrating their Imam (whose name is in lights) because of Ramadan.
The Blue Mosque
So I don't have too much of an update this time around because we haven't gone anywhere too extravagant - everyone was busy studying for our Turkish test, which was today. And which was not hard at all. Basically, what I'm trying to say is I'm fluent in Turkish now.
Went to Bebek to study yesterday at a coffee shop. Bebek is a little part of town right along the coast where a wealthier part of the population live, and it shows. The women there look like they belong on 90210. I actually felt scuzzy. I saw only one female with a head scarf on the entire day. Quite the contrast to Sultanahmet, the neighborhood where the Hagia Sophia and Blue Mosque are located. Istanbul really is a modern city of extremes. Kind of like our own American cities...
Anyway, to orient you I figured I'd post a few pictures of Turkey. I don't have a large variety because I am extremely technologically handicapped and had to battle with my camera for a few days.
The pictures of the Blue Mosque during the day and at night, the picture of the inside of the harem, and the picture of Hagia Sophia belong to Jill Humble. She took them. I did not. They do not belong to me. So please don't steal them.
P.S. The food is absolutely wonderful. I am having no problem at all gorging my face away.
P.P.S. Turkish peanut butter is better than American peanut butter. Heresy! you may shout. However, it is the truth.
Allahaismarladik!
Side street near campus
Inside a market looking up into the street
Overlooking the Bosphorus - the land on the other side of the water is Asia
Looking down onto Bebek
A quad-like area on campus
Inside the harem at Topkopi Palace - the Sultan's Mother's apartments
Hagia Sophia
The Blue Mosque at night. The Muslims are celebrating their Imam (whose name is in lights) because of Ramadan.
The Blue Mosque
Sunday, August 30, 2009
more turkish time
Time in Minnesota: 12:48 PM
Time in Turkey: 8:48 PM
More Turkish disaster today. Our professor is so energetic and genuinely funny, but she gets really confused by our questions. Often. And might possibly be deaf, because she talks over us a lot. All in all, learning Turkish was an interesting experience. And I'm sure I'll still rely on sign language when talking to the people in Istanbul. Almost all of them know English anyway.
Speaking of knowing English...
After exploring the Blue Mosque, Katie (a group mate) and I stopped to put on our shoes, with the result that the rest of our group surged ahead of us. As we were walking towards the group, a Middle Eastern man asked Katie to take a picture of him and his friend. After the picture was taken, he asked if Katie and I would be in a picture with him and his friend. We talked a bit, and found out that he was a tourist from Iran. Our conversation wasn't significant, but it was still amazing to take a picture with a man from Iran who was genuinely interested that we were from America. Even if that was the only reason he wanted a picture of us. Here in Turkey I am finding that every day old stereotypes are questioned and even broken.
The month of September is Ramadan for the Muslims, who are not allowed to eat from sunrise to sunset. Breaking the fast at sunset is called iftar, and is a celebration in its own right. A few of us decided to do iftar with the crowds at sundown, which meant that we had to stake out a spot in a park and battle crowds that would rival the Minnesota State Fair. Everyone was laughing and smiling. People were taking pictures. A band was playing traditional music in a bandstand. A man on stilts came walking by and they were selling cotton candy. It was amazing to see how much joy the people had. Personally I'd be incredibly grumpy if I hadn't eaten in many, many hours...
When the call to prayer finally came around 8, everyone in the park became reverently silent. After the prayer, the Muslims ate with a quite sort of solemnity. The mood in the park visibly changed; the people as a collective seemed to understand and respect the significance of the ceremony. It was truly an experience to be part of.
So you all know that I'm usually much less dry than I seem to be in these posts. Know that I still have a sense of humor.
Wishing you all the best!
Time in Turkey: 8:48 PM
More Turkish disaster today. Our professor is so energetic and genuinely funny, but she gets really confused by our questions. Often. And might possibly be deaf, because she talks over us a lot. All in all, learning Turkish was an interesting experience. And I'm sure I'll still rely on sign language when talking to the people in Istanbul. Almost all of them know English anyway.
Speaking of knowing English...
After exploring the Blue Mosque, Katie (a group mate) and I stopped to put on our shoes, with the result that the rest of our group surged ahead of us. As we were walking towards the group, a Middle Eastern man asked Katie to take a picture of him and his friend. After the picture was taken, he asked if Katie and I would be in a picture with him and his friend. We talked a bit, and found out that he was a tourist from Iran. Our conversation wasn't significant, but it was still amazing to take a picture with a man from Iran who was genuinely interested that we were from America. Even if that was the only reason he wanted a picture of us. Here in Turkey I am finding that every day old stereotypes are questioned and even broken.
The month of September is Ramadan for the Muslims, who are not allowed to eat from sunrise to sunset. Breaking the fast at sunset is called iftar, and is a celebration in its own right. A few of us decided to do iftar with the crowds at sundown, which meant that we had to stake out a spot in a park and battle crowds that would rival the Minnesota State Fair. Everyone was laughing and smiling. People were taking pictures. A band was playing traditional music in a bandstand. A man on stilts came walking by and they were selling cotton candy. It was amazing to see how much joy the people had. Personally I'd be incredibly grumpy if I hadn't eaten in many, many hours...
When the call to prayer finally came around 8, everyone in the park became reverently silent. After the prayer, the Muslims ate with a quite sort of solemnity. The mood in the park visibly changed; the people as a collective seemed to understand and respect the significance of the ceremony. It was truly an experience to be part of.
So you all know that I'm usually much less dry than I seem to be in these posts. Know that I still have a sense of humor.
Wishing you all the best!
Saturday, August 29, 2009
it's turkey time
To whom it may concern.
First blog ever. Want to keep up? Read.
First adventure: Turkey. Left Minnesota at around 2:30 pm on the 26th, and arrived in Istanbul around 4:15 pm on the 27th. Major jet lag. Maybe slept...5 collective hours? I thought this would help me get to sleep that night (even though my body might have thought it was still the afternoon), but I woke up to the sound of the Muslim call to prayer at 4:50 am Turkish time and had troubles falling back to sleep. It might have been worth it to hear the call in the dead of night, however. Electric.
Next day was the first day of classes at Boğaziçe (pronounced boe-a-zi-chi) University, just up the street from the Superdorm, where we will be staying until September 7th. Out scheduled class material was Turkish. Now, Turkish isn't exactly known for being easy. Especially when it sounds like a combination of Portuguese, Norwegian and Japanese. And especially when your Turkish teacher has extremely high expectations. Long story short, we mumbled out a few words, tried to learn a few grammatical rules, and ended up extremely confused.
A taste of the words I did learn:
Merhaba (Hello)
Günaydin (Good night)
Amerikaliyim (I'm from America)
Allahaismarladik (Good bye - literally, something like: Allah light your way)
This last one sounds like alas, small dick. Take from that what you will.
Today we toured. Made a stop at the Topkopi Palace first, the palace of the sultans of the Ottoman Empire. It has an amazing view of the Bosphorus, not to mention ridiculous opulence (read: crazy jewels. Most of which the Turks stole). Enough opulence, in fact, to keep a harem of 3,000 women, children and slaves.
Next stop: Hagia Sophia (in Greek, Holy Wisdom). It was once a church, way back when Constantine converted to Christianity and took all of Constantinople with him. Later, it was changed to a mosque when the Muslims took charge of the city. Now it's an odd mixture of both. Because no one can decide whether it should now be a church or a mosque, however, the good ole USA stepped in and declared it a museum. The building itself is a strange dichotomy: 4 minarets surround the church and there is Arabic writing throughout the inside, but mosaics of Christ, John the Baptist and Mary, and engravings of crosses, can be seen throughout the inside as well. Hagia Sophia is a truly gorgeous place. But its history alone would be enough of a draw.
Final stop: the Blue Mosque, so named for the blue tiles that characterize the place. The mosque sits directly opposite Hagia Sophia, so it could compete with Christianity for religious prevalence in Instanbul. The afternoon tour of the mosque was excellent. But what was really special was the experience I had inside later that night:
A few of us decided to try and sit in on a special prayer service, since it is currently Ramadan in Turkey. We weren't sure how this would turn out, since typically tourists are asked to leave when prayer services are being held, but when we arrived at the mosque (as the only non-Muslims in sight) we were told we could stay. Half of us ended up with the women on the second level of the mosque, and the other half ended up on the ground floor towards the back of the mosque (since women are not allowed to pray in the front of the mosque with the men). Although I sat viewing the ceremony on the ground floor without participating in the prayers, the group upstairs was guided by the women in the complicated process of bowing, prostrating and standing. It was a beautiful sight to hear and behold. The reading of the Qur'an is something indescribable. Very powerful, to be sure. The entire ceremony was one I'll never forget.
It never ceases to amaze me how genuinely nice people here in Turkey are. They all say hello and practice their English on us. They help us watch out for cars in the road (because driving in Instanbul is nothing short of chaos). One man even helped us cross the street. And they all put up with out terrible Turkish. I can't wait to see what more I can learn about this wonderful culture, and what other stereotypes I can examine and possibly break.
This post is much longer than the rest will be. Suffice it to say that I am alive and having a wonderful time.
Allahaismarladik!
First blog ever. Want to keep up? Read.
First adventure: Turkey. Left Minnesota at around 2:30 pm on the 26th, and arrived in Istanbul around 4:15 pm on the 27th. Major jet lag. Maybe slept...5 collective hours? I thought this would help me get to sleep that night (even though my body might have thought it was still the afternoon), but I woke up to the sound of the Muslim call to prayer at 4:50 am Turkish time and had troubles falling back to sleep. It might have been worth it to hear the call in the dead of night, however. Electric.
Next day was the first day of classes at Boğaziçe (pronounced boe-a-zi-chi) University, just up the street from the Superdorm, where we will be staying until September 7th. Out scheduled class material was Turkish. Now, Turkish isn't exactly known for being easy. Especially when it sounds like a combination of Portuguese, Norwegian and Japanese. And especially when your Turkish teacher has extremely high expectations. Long story short, we mumbled out a few words, tried to learn a few grammatical rules, and ended up extremely confused.
A taste of the words I did learn:
Merhaba (Hello)
Günaydin (Good night)
Amerikaliyim (I'm from America)
Allahaismarladik (Good bye - literally, something like: Allah light your way)
This last one sounds like alas, small dick. Take from that what you will.
Today we toured. Made a stop at the Topkopi Palace first, the palace of the sultans of the Ottoman Empire. It has an amazing view of the Bosphorus, not to mention ridiculous opulence (read: crazy jewels. Most of which the Turks stole). Enough opulence, in fact, to keep a harem of 3,000 women, children and slaves.
Next stop: Hagia Sophia (in Greek, Holy Wisdom). It was once a church, way back when Constantine converted to Christianity and took all of Constantinople with him. Later, it was changed to a mosque when the Muslims took charge of the city. Now it's an odd mixture of both. Because no one can decide whether it should now be a church or a mosque, however, the good ole USA stepped in and declared it a museum. The building itself is a strange dichotomy: 4 minarets surround the church and there is Arabic writing throughout the inside, but mosaics of Christ, John the Baptist and Mary, and engravings of crosses, can be seen throughout the inside as well. Hagia Sophia is a truly gorgeous place. But its history alone would be enough of a draw.
Final stop: the Blue Mosque, so named for the blue tiles that characterize the place. The mosque sits directly opposite Hagia Sophia, so it could compete with Christianity for religious prevalence in Instanbul. The afternoon tour of the mosque was excellent. But what was really special was the experience I had inside later that night:
A few of us decided to try and sit in on a special prayer service, since it is currently Ramadan in Turkey. We weren't sure how this would turn out, since typically tourists are asked to leave when prayer services are being held, but when we arrived at the mosque (as the only non-Muslims in sight) we were told we could stay. Half of us ended up with the women on the second level of the mosque, and the other half ended up on the ground floor towards the back of the mosque (since women are not allowed to pray in the front of the mosque with the men). Although I sat viewing the ceremony on the ground floor without participating in the prayers, the group upstairs was guided by the women in the complicated process of bowing, prostrating and standing. It was a beautiful sight to hear and behold. The reading of the Qur'an is something indescribable. Very powerful, to be sure. The entire ceremony was one I'll never forget.
It never ceases to amaze me how genuinely nice people here in Turkey are. They all say hello and practice their English on us. They help us watch out for cars in the road (because driving in Instanbul is nothing short of chaos). One man even helped us cross the street. And they all put up with out terrible Turkish. I can't wait to see what more I can learn about this wonderful culture, and what other stereotypes I can examine and possibly break.
This post is much longer than the rest will be. Suffice it to say that I am alive and having a wonderful time.
Allahaismarladik!
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