Security is Questionable even on Security Street

Two weeks before I left Japan after two years, my car was totaled in an accident that happened while I was driving home at night in a rainstorm. No one was hurt, but it raised a bit of a flurry before my final departure. Two months before I left Kosovo after two years I suffered a knee injury that required I leave one month before the end of my contract so I could have surgery back home. Again, nothing too major, but there was a definite flurry there too. Here in Ankara, I live on Güvenlik Cadessi – literal translation being Security Street. Yes, part of the welcoming gut feeling I had when I selected this apartment back in September was its street name. However, as I start to get ready to leave Turkey in a month it seems as though a street name could not protect me from my departure-from-foreign-home curse.

As I walked the stairs up to my second floor (third floor by US standards) apartment after work yesterday, I heard a flurry of chatter in the hallway. I have almost never seen my next-door neighbors before, but I have heard their little yippy dog frequently. They, along with some other building-mates I had barely glimpsed in the past, were chattering away about nothing I could understand until I tried to put the key into my door, seeing a major gap between the doorframe and knob. When the key wouldn’t budge in the lock, I quickly figured out what the flurry was about. It soon became clear to me that the neighboring apartment had been victimized as well. The police were on their way, but the fact that my front door had been hammered open and there was this flurry of chatter in a foreign language, I did what I’ve had to do in the past and called my bi-lingual friends for support. As soon as my Turkish/American friend Meltem/Lara arrived, the communication doors were open and I was able to bond with my neighbors for the first time in 8 months.

As we waited for the police, I went through a mental inventory of my worldly possessions – computer, passport, credit cards I usually take with me to work and that was no different this time. My worldly possessions don’t have a whole lot of street value and the only thing of value they could have gotten their hands on was some cash and a credit card I had stashed away in a secret spot.

Police and locksmith arrived simultaneously and the flurry of building-mates stood there and watched as they used a hammer and what looked like a hanger to pry open the door. At least the perpetrators were kind enough to close the door behind them when they left. The last BANG opened the door and the flurrying sea parted so I could walk into the light pouring in through my balcony door. Before I took the first step in I knew they had been there. Drawers were opened that I’ve never touched and lights were on that I don’t turn on in the mornings. The guy I rent the apartment from had a closet in the second bedroom with his own things in it that he kept locked. They took the hammer to that too. Even though they only found neckties and a VCR from 1983 in there, this must have preoccupied the burglars long enough to keep them from getting to my secret stash. I will not divulge my secret here, but it seems as though it didn’t have to be too secret because my camera, video camera and netbook computer were all sitting out in the wide open and weren’t even touched. The one thing they did take was a necklace I bought for myself a few months back, but really, none of my jewels could compare in value to a netbook computer.

This all ended with very supportive neighbors, friends and even police officers that were concerned for my wellbeing and me feeling quite relieved knowing how much worse it could have been. My dad said how lucky I was and that I should go right out and buy a lottery ticket. Not sure my luck would win me a million TL, but it does have me feeling pretty damn fortunate!

Please don’t anyone worry. I will be sleeping at a friend’s house until this door is replaced and soon after I will be getting on an airplane departing Turkey. Until then, I’ll just keep my stash hidden, be grateful to the wonderful people around me and hope my good luck continues.

Two sides

Yea, there are two strongly opposing sides in Turkish politics too. It seems to me to be a little less obvious, though. Ankara is the capitol. Ataturk's (the father of Turkey) mausoleum is here. The people around me tend to fall toward the nationalist side. But I read articles like this and it's evident that there is some all too familiar anger that runs deep. People back home ask me to explain that conflict that exists here and I don't know how to explain it because I don't fully understand it. Maybe people who live further east have a better grasp than I do. I found this article (click the title above for the link) to fill some holes still leaving many.

Bursa

It was one of my typical walk-abouts in a new city. Wander around, get lost and see where I end up. Started in a nice residential area passing fellow pedestrians, bus stops and front yards. I always have an idea of my general direction, usng my inner "force" to keep me pointed that way. After about 30 minutes my force had lead me into what looked like the trash compactor. Basically light-industrialand where I was clearly the only female droid wandering where she shouldn't have been. I'm just glad the sun was up.

I found my way back to the main thoroughfare and followed the street signs to the "staydium." even back in light-industrialand green and white flags were waving everywhere. As I got closer to the stadium, even the people were covered in green and while. Could Bursa be the Irish enclave of Western Anatolia? Would have been funny, but no. The futbol team, Bursaspor, is apparently on a hot streak and are in a positi

on to win a league trophy - their colors are green and white.

My path then moved to the central shopping mall, Starbucks, Zara and massive electronics stores. Since my location had me places on my Loney Planet map, I knew exactly which direction to head for my real tourist goal of the day. Less than ten meters in the right direction and I spotted to my left the cave-like entrance to the covered Grand Bazarr of Bursa. Much like the Bazarr in Istanbul, there were avenues branching off in all directions each specializing in its own good - elegant gold and silk, practical produce and spices and nock-off shoes, bags and gaudy ball gowns. Brilliant!

It wasn't hard to find the other central attraction to the area - the Ulu Camii (mosque). I usually hesitate to enter into the smaller Camii simply because they seem too sacred for a non-muslim invader. There were plenty of uncovered women and back-pack clad tourist-types walking in and out for me to feel safe to enter. I followed etiquette by taking off my shoes at the door and wrapping my scarf over my head. I entered into what seemed to be mother/child day of prayer. Sure, some men were up front where the women aren't allowed, but the majority of the people in there were the women and children sitting on the carpet and simply enjoying their time together in this sanctuary.

The battle of 1389 that occured in Kosovo between the Ottomans, Albanians, Serbs and other Balkan lands is written in the text books of each nation with special significance to each. What I believe they all agree with is the outcome - the Ottomans won the battle, but lost their leader. Sultan Murat I was killed in this battle and a memorial for him exists on the spot in Kosovo which happens to be about 10 feet from where I taught at the journalism school there. His tomb and a mosque in his name exist today in Bursa and I obviously had to pay my respects. Next I need to find out where Murat I was born so I can complete my accidental path that follows this guy's life.

It was a whole lot of walking in the wrong direction but I eventually hit all the highlights of this historic little town. On the taxi ride back to my hotel my inner force realized how badly I had missed the easy way around. Never-the-less, my young jedi skills always get me there eventually.

And the Wind Blows

I went to a funeral today. I go into my work trips prepared to give teacher training workshops, observe classes, check out potential ELF housing options and drink a lot of tea while talking to directors of English departments. This trip was going to be a bit different because one objective was to scout out potential sites for future camps. I was prepared with everything from work clothes and heels to hiking boots, ski jacket and gloves ready to venture into the mountains and experience the outdoors of Turkey. A funeral just wasn’t on the program.

The English faculty in Erzincan, like the city it's in, is small, so I was able to meet most of them on my first day. Young and new with energy and ideas, this is a group with great vision for the future of their fledgling school. After a few cups of tea, training and a couple of meals, I already felt like I had known them for months.

After only 24 hours of knowing the director, I noticed that he carried an extra weight on his shoulders when he joined us for lunch on the second day. I had seen it since the night before while, actually, having dinner with his family. The natural warm smile that made him so approachable the second I met him had morphed into something strained and forced in the past couple of hours for some reason I was oblivious to. Then he got the phone call. Something about health, something apparently serious that required he give it immediate attention. Five minutes later the phone of another colleague eating with us rang, having the same effect. More phone calls followed filling in some holes to a horrible tragedy. A very close colleague and friend from the university, a man loved by faculty and students and known as simply a friend to all, had died.

Erzincan is a town that, when most Ankara Turks hear it mentioned, is sort of disregarded as a mountain village that is known because it was severely damaged in an earthquake exactly 18 years ago. Looking at it from the airplane, it is located smack dab in the middle of a powder sugar covered mountain bowl. Walking its streets, every direction you look are peaks thousands of meters high. Since I landed, I’ve wanted nothing more than to walk in any direction and head straight into this amazing scene. The wind tends to blow strong here and it seems as though every time I try to move in a direction here, a massive gust of wind swirls up and blows me in an unexpected direction, toward places and people that make me like it even more here.

Our hosts obviously had more pressing things to deal with now than Aycan, my Embassy colleague, and me. We took the afternoon to find an art museum, maybe do some shopping, take a nap and have dinner in the hotel restaurant – simple. The crazy winds blew us to an art gallery that was closed, a café where we obviously didn’t fit in and a jewelry shop where we spent more money than we had planned. Wanting to get out of the wind by late afternoon and have a rest, we headed back to the hotel where a gust came up and shifted the trajectory of the rest of the evening. After the news of the death that shoot the entire town, our plans to check out campsites with a local guide we thought were on hold . . . and then . . . there was a man with the tour company waiting for us at the hotel, ready to keep the appointment and take us into the hills and show us some videos. So much for the rest. They wanted to take us out to dinner too, which would make the night that much longer. UGH.

The wind kept blowing though, and what started as something I was not at all excited about had been blown around enough to become a surprisingly perfect evening of amazing food, nargile, photographs, videos and stories of a man that had explored every corner of the mountainous land around this city. Rock and ice climbing, skiing, water skiing, camping trips with groups of 200 kids at altitudes of 2000 meters sleeping in tents and seeing sights and landscapes you forget really exist on this planet were all presented to us as possabilities available to students and even to us, whenever we wanted. I felt like this man knew something about me that I didn't share, like he was answering my questions and reading my mind without me having to say a word. I could see myself in just about every picture he took and being a part of his incredible lifestyle and adventure.

When the wind blew me back to my hotel room, I knew that it would bring me back to this place in the near future and experience these mountains for myself. Unfortunately, this time the wind was in charge and mountain exploration wasn't going to happen. This time was about the heavy hearts of these strangers I wanted to call friends. I watched them support each other at the funeral, creating a net to hold each other up. They even opened themselves up to include us a bit in their net, making me feel again like I knew them before.

Seeing the pain and confusion in their minds made me want to take people who were, in all ways, strangers to me and somehow comfort them. Seeing the land around here and what it has to offer left me with a sense of comfort knowing that enjoying nature and its beauty can be found in the most unlikely places. As I leave, even though the experience didn't include all that was planned, a different plan played out. I know that I will be back here to see these people and this place that I blew into a few days ago.

Astronauts in Adana

I may not like the bureaucratic blahblah that comes with my job, but there are some perks that sometimes make up for the rest of it. A couple of weeks ago my English Language Officer at the Embassy told me that Neil Armstrong, Jim Lovell and a couple of other aviation legends were going to be in Turkey visiting a military base just south of here in Adana. He said that a talk at the University was also going to be planned and that the Embassy wanted to invite students form our Access program that live nearby. The Embassy would pay for transport, a meal and an overnight for those students and kids traveling too far to make the round trip in one day. Because I work quite closely with Access teachers, I was asked to attend the event and help with logistics and organization of the student group.

I know they’re old, but I got excited. Neil Armstrong I of course knew. This is THE guy that first walked on the moon, only one, and I’d get to see him. Jim Lovell I had to look up, but quickly put Tom Hanks and Apollo 13 together to know why he was a significant character. This was going to be a very cool event.

The organizers of the event were the consulate in Adana plus the university where the event took place. The Americans had their invite list that included our students and teachers. We were given very strict instructions that every person attending needed their name on the invite list and to have a written invitation in hand. We were set. The university opened the doors to its own people, but because it was a campus event, was unable to have a set invite list. Basically, the door was open to anyone.

Before I proceed with the story, I think it’s useful to say that, when one purchases movie tickets in Turkey, they receive assigned seats in the theater. Whether the seats are sold out or they are the only people in the place, the moviegoer has a designated place to sit. I found this to be quirky and funny the first time I went and never really thought twice about it after that. With some people being invited with reserved seats for the astronaut event and a whole lot more that were there for general admission, it should have raised a red flag to at least on organizer that there might be problems. It occurred to me, but I wasn’t organizing the event, so I just sat back and watched.

One hour before the event was meant to start, the line at the door started to form. Seeing the crowds, we herded our Access kids in right away, allowing them to skip the line and go right through security, invitations in hand. No surprise that this did not sit well with the university crowd in line and got the whole thing off to a bad start. The auditorium sat 450 people and once those seats were filled, there was a reserve auditorium next door where people could watch the event live on a big screen. When a crowd of university students saw that a bunch of high school kids had reserved seats and that they would have to go to the overflow room, they were pissed off. Security - one middle-aged mustached university employee – put in an effort and closed the doors, but that didn’t last very long. If the door opened the slightest bit, five people would weasel their way in, until mustached-man simply gave up and allowed them all go in. The aisles and stairs and every piece of carpeting was covered within 3 minutes.

Since university security obviously didn’t have much control, some American Embassy officers stepped in and managed to close the doors and stop people from entering the auditorium that already held at least 300 people more than it was supposed to. One Embassy woman used an obvious reason of, “this is a terrible fire hazard. No more people can be allowed in,” to which a university student responded with seemingly clear logic, “Why would there be a fire?”

On this day I witnessed a textbook example of Turkish and American cultures clashing. All day long I was entertained and disgusted by what seemed to me an irrational reaction and lack of common sense. When seats are full, no more people can get in, period, right? That’s my American culture talking. Turkish culture comes back simply with, “more people can fit” and “Why would there be a fire?” Despite a minimum age of 12 allowed entrance, mothers argued to get their 5 year-old kid in the door saying, “Science doesn’t have an age.” A father proudly presented his chubby-faced 8 year-old son who had memorized a speech by Neil Armstrong in English hoping it would get his kid in the door. Their persistence and refusal to accept what we Americans would naturally accept – there are no more seats – baffled me. It was two cultures looking at the same situation from completely different perspectives at its finest. I now understand with complete clarity the need to assign seats at the movie and will never question it again.

Getting everyone in the door took an hour and a half. The astronauts were eventually shuffled from their armored van to the auditorium, told their stories, the audience loved it for an hour and then the astronauts were shuffled back out to their armored van and taken away. The auditorium was empty in 5 minutes. There was a plan to have a photograph taken of the astronauts with our Access students, but that was simply not possible. The crowds and lack of security would not allow it. The kids were disappointed, but I think they’ll appreciate the alternative we put together for them. An event that was amazing as it was absolutely insane.

Return to Cairo

I know, it's been too long. But guess what, I've been traveling.

I returned to Cairo last week. Fifteen years ago as a nearly graduating college student from the Midwest, it was only the fourth stamp in my passport and the first from a “developing” country. After over a month of studying ancient history, eating Koshery, visiting every museum and pharos’s tomb there was to visit, I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. I don’t remember much detail about my time in Cairo at all, but I do remember the last day as my classmates, professor and I were finally checking out of the Cosmopolitan Hotel and heading to the airport. Over a month in a country and the most vivid memory I have is of leaving it – of standing in the hotel lobby (I don’t remember a thing about the street outside the lobby) waiting for our airport bus to arrive. The peripheral memories of Cairo are of seemingly every person that helped us in the slightest way, sticking their hand in our faces and asking for baksheesh; of every man in the Khan el Khalili not only luring the naive foreign women into their stores to buy things but also to make an offer of hundreds of camels for a hand in marriage. I think the reason I don’t remember the street outside of the hotel is because I avoided going out in it. The dirty, crowded, loud, and in September, hot streets of this foreign country were something I had had enough of and wanted nothing more than to fly far far away from them.

Fifteen years later those are the memories that stick with me. In those years I have spent a whole lot of time in some pretty big, crowded, dirty and developing cities – New Delhi, Shanghai, Beijing, Hong Kong and yea, although obviously not a foreign city, New York might as well be foreign to some Midwesterners. Fifteen years later, I surprisingly find myself preferring to live in cities where there is a bustle and beat to the streets – a crowd and even a grit. The crowds, noise, stink and filth have become things the senses have learned to tolerate. However, when I was told that I was going to be going to Cairo for a work-related conference this year, I was not excited at all. I was pretty much dreading it, as a matter of fact. When my colleagues talked about their plans to head to The Pyramids, Sphinx, the medieval city, the Khan and the Citadel I did not grab the offers to join them. Most simply, the thought of getting into a taxi to go anywhere raised all sorts of red flags because I knew we would either get ripped off or killed in a car accident. No, I imagined myself once again just staying in my hotel and avoiding the wretched place of my memories.

It was early evening when we arrived. By the time we got to the hotel, checked in and settled a bit, it was time for dinner, a drink and a walk to the corner store for a bottle of water before heading to bed. Our hotel was in a neighborhood I had never been to before – not that I would remember it if I had been there before. The Nile River was right there and very few shops lined the streets. I had forgotten my toothbrush so I had no choice but to go to the dreaded streets and hunt for one. With my feet dragging, my roommate went with me and fortunately there was a little pharmacy open right down the street. I was prepared to have to pay $30 or more for a descent toothbrush and toothpaste – I mean, everyone in Cairo wants to rip off the foreigner, right!? To my surprise, the prices were clearly posted and were quite reasonable. A very sweet woman behind the counter smiled and told me the price in English, which I handed to her, smiled back and said thank you. Not bad. Getting the bottle of water was equally easy and cheap and I went to bed with an attitude showing a slight glimpse of improving.

We had meetings all the next day. Sitting in a big conference room on the 10th floor of the hotel, we had a beautiful view of The Nile and the city beyond. During a break, I walked over to look out an open window and felt a cool Cairo winter (it was about 70F) breeze blow through. The smoggy yet sunny view and the Cairo smell were hitting me straight on. But wait, it didn’t stink so badly. From this high up it still looked dirty, but it was also a pretty spectacular view. I could still hear the honking horns but really, that’s just the sound of a city. What I was seeing, hearing and feeling from the top floor were not the horrific memories of a city that had grown to annoy me, but the forgotten memories of amazement I had when I saw this foreign country for the first time. Instead of bringing back the dirty city memories in the forefront of my mind, I was suddenly brought back to the naivety of a 21 year-old college student smelling garbage, hearing honking horns and negotiating in a foreign culture for the first time . . . again. It was new, funny, strange – a curious adventure to get swept up in. That breeze from the 10th floor did not represent just another dirty and foreign city – it represented and brought me back, literally to the first truly foreign city I had ever been to and I was 21 and seeing it for the first time all over again.

The "nicest man in Cairo" drove every taxi I got into from then on. Every one of them smiled, asked “Where you from?” smiled even bigger at the answer with the words, “Welcome to Cairo,” said with the utmost sincerity. Only one tried to take us for a ride, literally and figuratively, by taking an extremely long route back to the hotel and crossing the Nile River four times at least. Not sure if he knew we were onto him or what, but even he was honest in the end saying that he had made a mistake and charged us less than what the meter said. Unbelievable, really. And things like that happened everywhere. Despite the conditions of their city, these people were happy. I don’t see that in Turkey too much and I am not sure why, but it was very apparent and I was amazed.

The crazy memories hit me from everywhere once again when I went back to the National Museum, Egypt’s attic, and saw endless floors and rooms full of old stuff. Coptic jars, sarcophagi, animal mummies, trinkets and big pieces of wood labeled #632 for cataloging purposes. Then, as I walked back into the campus of the American University in Cairo I was stopped dead in my tracks by a door. It went to the university library – the place where 21 year-old me entered every day, showing my student ID so I could sit and study and hide. I couldn’t find the shop where we always bought ice cream. The area where all of the students sat and my classmate Kari was bit by a cat had changed a bit as well, but standing there again, I was detailed memories and emotions long repressed were flooding back.

I still didn’t head out to Giza to see The Pyramids. Didn’t want to do too much at once and ruin it all. But I did go through the heart of the city, through some of the poorest neighborhoods I had ever seen, into mosques and out through the Khan with a much broader perspective than I think I was capable of at 21. I even thought for a second that I could live there for a little bit some day. Cairo. I went back to the last place I had ever wanted to go and am now hoping that I have a chance to go back there again.