I left for Antakya late Thursday night.  Of course the journey would not be complete without some sort of bus mishaps.  My ticket’s departure time read “23/12/2011 at 00:30”.  However, when I boarded the bus with my friend Wendy, an English Language Fellow, we found our seats occupied by a father and daughter.  We showed them our ticket, and they showed us theirs.  They matched.  We showed the bus attendant and he grabbed our tickets and ran inside while I called my Turkish friend Ceyhun to come back to the station after dropping us off no more than five minutes before.

Ceyhun and the bus attendant returned at about the same time.  At this point he showed us the “fine print” of our ticket which said that we were traveling the night between Friday the 23^rd and Saturday the 24^th.  “Why,” I asked Ceyhun to translate, “would they date a ticket the 23^rd and use military time for 12:30 a.m. if they really meant for it to be the next day?”  It made no sense.  And they had no explanation.  Sympathetic of the poor foreigners’ plight, they accommodated us.  Wendy got a different seat right away.  I was allowed to ride shotgun with the bus driver for two hours before moving to the back of the bus.  There is nothing more horrifying than having a front row seat to a driver who is talking on his phone, smoking a cigarette, eating apricot seeds, and suspiciously staring at you all while barreling down a potholed Turkish highway at 100 km/h.  Thankfully I was exhausted enough to shut my eyes and go to sleep.

We were dropped off in Antakya right by our place of stay, another English Language Fellow Margot’s apartment.  We rested a bit, got some coffee in our system, and then ventured out into the pouring rain to explore the city.  Our first stop was the Archeology Museum, which has one of the world’s largest collections of ancient Roman mosaics.  Below is the mosaic entitled something like “Drunken Dionysus.”

Drunken Dionysus

After exploring the mosaics, we walked to the center of town to sit down and enjoy some tea and künefe, a traditional Turkish desert that meets its palatable peak in Hatay.  We chatted some, and the girls decided to make homemade eggnog, so we stopped by the store on the way back to Margot’s apartment.  That night I was served a delicious home cooked meal, Christmas cookies, and tasty eggnog.

The following morning we slept in and again stepped out into the rain for more exploring.  Meeting up with yet another ELF, we made our way to St. Peter’s to explore the site without a large crowd.  Although small, the church is quite spectacular and even more majestic when you consider its rich history.  During the proceeding leisurely lunch, I received a call from a group of Fulbrighters in Gaziantep.  All fifteen of them were on their way and excited about attending the Christmas Eve mass.

The facade of St. Peter's Grotto (Antioch)

That night I ventured to the city center and began asking around for the local Catholic Church.  I had heard there was a free bus from the church to St. Peter’s at around 8 o’clock.  The directions given to me from several different Turks led me through some dimly lit alleys and isolated roads, but finally I stumbled upon a giant red banner that read “Katolik Kilisesi Noel Bayramı” with arrows pointing the way.  Around several more turns, I arrived at a large gate.  After giving it a hefty push and then a pull, I was disappointed to find it locked, but I was shortly buzzed in from someone inside.

As I stepped into the deserted courtyard I was taken aback by its beauty.  White Christmas lights were strung across the numerous trees giving the intricate stonework of the surrounding buildings a warm glow.  Fountains and reading benches checkered the central plaza, and the rain clouds glowed in the open air above.  Wrapped up in silent appreciation, I hardly heard the “iyi akşamlar” (good evening) whispered from a doorway to my right.   As I approached and began asking about the bus, I quickly realized this man was not originally from Turkey.  (I would later discover that he was the Italian priest that headed up this parish.)

He confirmed to me that a bus would be leaving at eight.  With an hour to kill and a growling stomach, I jumped across the street to an inviting restaurant.  I knew I made the right choice when walking through the entryway I was greeted with a glowing Merry Christmas sign.  As I entered, a host pulled me aside and explained that there was a Christmas party that night, and I could not be seated upstairs.  However, since the rain had stopped, they would be willing to serve me in the open air courtyard.  I was pleased to sit amongst Christmas lights watching the well dressed guests stroll in for the holiday festivities.  The waiters were kind enough to bring out a space heater from the kitchen to keep me warm.  I enjoyed my meal under the night sky reading and journaling by the light of the Merry Christmas sign.

The 8 o’clock bus brought me straight to St. Peter’s, and I found all fifteen of my friends sitting along the side wall.  We exchanged greeting and sat down for the start of the service.  Despite the foreign language and even more foreign Catholic liturgy, I came to realize during Turkish “Silent Night” that it actually felt like Christmas.  The front-toothless children’s choir and the “I cannot believe Mom made me do this” look on Mary’s face as she held Cabbage Patch Jesus made it all the more authentic.

Christmas Eve Mass in St. Peter's

I decided that night that I had experienced all possible sights of Antakya given the gloomy weather conditions.  I figured my Christmas would be better spent in the company of friends.  So I took the extra seat in the van and traveled back to Gaziantep for the remaining day and a half of my break.  We slept in the following morning and met up for a leisurely Christmas brunch.  A group of fifteen friends around a table could not replace family, but it was a concerted effort.  Afterwards we headed into town to see the copper bazaar and the castle that overlooks the city.  Around mid-afternoon, we sat down in İmam Çadaş for Gaziantep’s famous lamacun and baklava.  By night we were back in the Gazianteper’s apartment for one final hurrah before parting ways the following morning.

Returning to class  Tuesday, I was met in the hallway by a swarm of students.  Unable to understand the chorus of voices shouting at me, I was dragged into the classroom and sat in front of a computer where I was shown the following video:

http://tvarsivi.com/player.php?y=13&z=2011-12-25+15%3A25%3A11&res=2011-12-25+15%3A25%3A11

Apparently, we made a local news covering the various Christmas celebrations around Turkey.  I now cannot get the students to stop calling me “hacı” which is the word they use for Muslims who complete their journey to Mecca.  My male students were hugging me, overcome with pride that, unbeknownst to me, I had completed my Christian pilgrimage to one of the world’s oldest churches.

Also check out this piece in Today’s Zaman – http://www.todayszaman.com/news-266703-christians-in-turkey-festively-celebrate-christmas.html

Because we were in Izmir for a wedding, there was little time to explore the sights of the city.  In any other historical town, this may have been problematic.  However, in 1922 a coastal town by the name of Smyrna was completely burned during the Turkish War of Independence, destroying most of its antiquities.  Shortly thereafter, the city was reconstructed, renamed Izmir, and today stands as Turkey’s third largest and arguably the most modern city.  Therefore, the time crunch was not a problem. Izmir is not a city for sightseeing per se, it is meant for strolling.

The afternoon we landed in Izmir was spent walking along Alsancak Streetdown into the Kordon district.  This beautiful seaside walkway was lined with café after café, many of which we ducked into for lunch or an invigorating Turkish coffee sweetened with mastic, a minty tree sap native to the Mediterranean.  As nightfall approached, we ventured to the Saat Kulesi, clock tower, which stands in front of the governor’s palace.  Constructed in 1901, it is one of the few survivors of the 1922 fire.  It is rumored to have been built to encourage Turks to adopt European timekeeping habits.

Izmir's Clock Tower

That night we stayed with a couple of the groom’s friends.  They were incredibly hospitable and went to every effort to make sure we were comfortable.  After sleeping in some, we woke up the next morning, dressed for the wedding, and set out for some more sightseeing.  For breakfast we had Izmir’s famous kumru followed by tea at the rooftop café of Asansör Tower.  From here the view of Izmir’s coast was spectacular.  Afterwards, we strolled through the markets and covered bazaars of the city center, stopping to drink Turkish coffee and Boza, a thick traditional Turkish drink made from corn and wheat.

The view from Asansör Tower.

Finally it was time to attend the wedding which was held in the city’s botanical fair grounds.  Turkish weddings are quite short.  The bride and groom walk in and sit at a large table in front of their friends and family.  They are accompanied by a state notary and two friends who serve as witnesses.  Quick remarks are made, the bride and groom promise to keep one another and sign their legal marriage document, quickly moving to the foyer.  There they are congratulated by wedding guests, bestowed with gifts, and pose for numerous pictures.  All this is followed several hours later by a reception in a local restaurant.  Guests partake in a series of meze platters (appetizers) which culminate in a main dish.  All the while there is singing, dancing, and sipping of Rakı, a traditional Turkish anise liquor that turns cloudy when mixed with water.  Despite its brevity, our time in Izmir was quite enjoyable.

Seth and I with the bride and groom. (I look so awkward because I am afraid to step on her dress.)

It appears Malatya will be having a very white Christmas.  Upon my turn, I have realized just how deep my Texas roots run—I am simply not made for snow.  My unsure-footedness has provided Seth and my students with several laughs.  However, I cannot blame them.  I am certain my hesitancy on ice is quite entertaining.  For Christmas I will be heading to Antakya (historic Antioch), and I could not be more excited.  My Christmas morning will be spent in what is said to be the earliest Christian church and the hub of Paul’s first missionary journey.  Many historians even believe it was dug by the hands of St. Peter himself.  Feel free to come join.

Merry Christmas.

Despite our concerns, we decided to give it a go.  After classes Thursday morning, Seth and I would pick up what ingredients we could at the cheaper campus grocery store.  Afterwards we would catch a bus into the city center to buy the rarer goods.  These would provide the necessities for preparing garlic mashed potatoes, stuffed mushrooms, cheesy vegetables, deviled eggs, and stuffing.

We decided to consult our baker friend Serdar about an apple pie.  In broken Turkish we explained Thanksgiving and the importance of having pie.  We showed him pictures, compared it to Turkish desserts, and answered his questions.  After twenty minutes of back and forth, he promised us an apple pie would be ready by 4:00 p.m. the next day.  We were skeptical, but hoping he would pull through.

The chicken/turkey still presented quite a problem.  By Thursday morning no solution had presented itself, and it was time to teach.  Seth and I had conceded that our Thanksgiving feast would have to be centered around sliced lunch meat.  However, during the first tea break, one of my students pulled me aside and told me that we could actually get stuffed and roasted chicken in Malatya’s city center.  She wrote the name of the place on a piece of paper, and I ran out of the classroom to tell Seth.  Coincidentally, Seth had the same news to give me.  He had heard about the roastery from a fellow staff member.  The dinner was coming together.

We had our fellow staff member call in the order for a roasted chicken.  We began to discuss the logistics of picking up the bird.  How could we go to the grocery store, pick up a chicken, and cook all at the same time?  Our friend could drive us into the city center around three thirty, but this was much too late and we would have no way of getting back on time.  After about ten minutes, he told us he had a solution.  He picked up the phone and gave a call.  With the speed of the Turkish, we had no idea what he was saying, but the other teachers in the room were laughing.  At the conclusion of the conversation, he informed us that one of Seth’s students would deliver the chicken to our apartment around five o’clock.  He should not be tipped or invited upstairs for the meal.  This act was simply out of the goodness of his heart.

So we ran our errands, purchased our food, came home, and immediately dove into a cooking frenzy.  While cooking, we ran FauxFire on the computer to put us in the holiday spirit.  Just before five, we made our way to Serdar’s café to collect the apple pie.  It looked and smelled amazing.  We chatted for a bit before receiving a call from Fahti, Seth’s student.  He was near the campus with our chicken.  We got some cookies for him as a thank you and made our way to pick up the chicken.  Shortly thereafter, our meal was complete.

To make sure Thanksgiving was fully celebrated, Seth and I both chatted with our families on Skype after dinner.  We shared some of the apple tea I purchased from the Istanbul Spice Bazaar.  The flavors complemented our pie well.  To conclude the night the right way, we watched the Packer vs. Lions game.  I would have much preferred the disappointing Aggies, or even the Cowboys, but the time difference made it impossible.  All in all it was a fantastic Turkey Day in Turkey.

We began with a night bus to Trabzon, Turkey.  After rolling in around 9 a.m., we purchased our return tickets, making friends with the Metro Turizm patron who helped us secure a trip to Sumela Monastery.  This 4^th century Greek Orthodox monastery is built on a steep cliff overlooking the Altındere valley.  I am sure the sound of the rushing river that winds through the pine trees speckled against the backdrop of snow covered peaks made it easy for these early Christians to focus their thoughts on God.  The most impressive aspect of the Sumela Monastery was the early 18^th century frescoes of scenes from the Bible narrative.  Although severely damaged, these paintings are artistically, historically, and symbolically fascinating.

Me in front of the Sumela Monastery frescoes.

The second night was again spent on a bus.  This time our destination was Tbilisi, Georgia.  Some of you may remember Tbilisi from 2008 when Russian flexed its muscles by rolling tanks into the capital of this former Soviet state.  I found Tbilisi an incredibly charming city.  We stayed in a hostel just off Freedom Square, giving us easy access to the many sites:  Trinity Church Cathedral, Sioni Cathedral, Metekhi, Rustaveli Avenue, Narikala Fortress, and the Sulfur Bath Houses (think hamam part two).

Holy Trinity Cathedral

In a three day whirlwind, we saw it all.  The only time we stopped to slow down was for long lunches of delicious Georgian cuisine and the even more exquisite wine.  To understand why we took our time with such food, here is the view from one of our preferred eateries:

Although many parts of Tbilisi were nice and well developed, there were some areas in which the seedy Soviet underbelly still shined through.  As we made our way east back across the country, this became even more apparent.  By the time we reached our third destination, Batumi, there was no need for history books, the failures and Communism were alive right before our eyes.  Streets looked like mine fields with massive craters and piles of rubble.  The pouring rain turned everything to mud and filled the holes in the ground, making many sections of streets impassible.  Seth and I discovered that entire sections of the city frequently lose access to gas.  Considering that the temperature in Batumi was below freezing, the lack of heating was difficult to bear.

Regardless of the shortcomings of the cities we visited, one thing continually present was the kindness of the people.  The taxi drivers we encountered were honest, the citizens eager to show us to the correct bus stop, and the staff of the hostels warm and welcoming.  In Batumi, this was especially true.  Despite the many obstacles we encountered in Batumi—the deluge, construction, gas outages, and cold,—the family we stayed with went out of their way to ensure we arrived safely and were well taken care of.  I only hope that the hospitality we were shown abroad is matched in the U.S. by people who encounter foreigners in their hometowns.

This past weekend, Seth and I made a southward escape from the autumn winds.  On Friday night we boarded a coach bus for the city of Mersin, seven hours southwest of Malatya.  We arrived in Mersin at 6:15 a.m. after a sweaty and extremely uncomfortable ride.  The bus station looked abandoned as most attendants had not opened their stores.  We used broken Turkish to find our way to the ticket counter where we would purchase our return trip.  While waiting for the salesman to finish his morning smoke, we shared a cup of tea with a shop owner who had been staring at us curiously.  He told us about his time in the military and the various places he had lived throughout Turkey.  We shared with him about our experiences so far, consulting the dictionary for every other word.

When the tea cups were emptied, our ticket master returned.  We promptly purchased our return and asked for the dolmuş to Silifke, a town two hours west along the Mediterranean coast.  The man looked at his watch, closed shop once more, grabbed Seth by the arm, and dragged us out to the bus terminal.  A procession of screaming and pointing pursued which ended with Seth and me sprinting towards a bus that was slowly inching towards the exit.  We successfully boarded and spent the two hour journey interspersing sleep and admiration of the coast.

Either travel guides lie or Seth and I are terrible at finding large sites of ancient ruins.  I suppose we should have realized there was a problem when the only response to, “where is the Temple of Zeus?” was the look of a confused Turk.  After much fruitless wandering, we stepped into a hotel to seek advice.  The woman behind the counter was of little help.  However, we did find a brochure featuring the exact ruins which we sought.  Upon showing her the picture, she gave an epiphanous “oh” and proceeded to tell us that the Temple of Zeus was a mere 50 kilometers away.  Fifty?  I perplexedly looked down at my travel guide.  It described the ruins as “in the near vicinity” of the Roman castle which I could clearly  see out the window to my right.  Frustrated, we decided to explore the remains of an old city just below the castle.  Zeus foiled us, but we did capture a great view of Silifke.

Roman wall guarding an ancient city above Silifke.

Bored of the evasive ruins of Silifke, we caught the dolmuş heading back towards Mersin.  We had two stops planned along the way.  The first was Cennet Cehennem, the Valley of Heaven and the Pit of Hell.  Then, we planned to stay the night in Kız Kalesi after an afternoon of beach bumming.

According to my travel guide of mediocre trustworthiness, Cennet Cehennem has been a tourist attraction since before Roman times.  Cennet, Heaven, is a cave that burrows into the wall of a small valley.  It takes a mere 455 steps to descend into Cennet.  As you approach the opening of the cave, the air grows cooler and the vegetation more lush.  At the mouth of the cave rests the well preserved ruins of a Byzantine church.  It is incredible to think of the many teachings that have taken place within those walls in the midst of such beauty.  Seth and I explored further into the cave where it is believed that the Fountain of Knowledge used to flow.  There was not much to see, and the light was too faint for pictures.  So we began our breathtaking ascent, both in terms of beauty and endurance, back to the rim.

Byzantine church at the mouth of Cennet.

The inside of the Cennet church.

Hell, Cehennem, was a mere stone’s throw away.  This large sinkhole is 30 meters wide and 120 meters deep.  It has been declared by several ancient civilizations as the entrance to Hell.  According to Greek mythology, it is also the location where Zeus was imprisoned by Typhoon, a 100-headed dragon.  Because of the steepness of its walls, Cehennem is inaccessible.  I suppose it bodes well for our souls that the view of Hell felt rather anticlimactic after hiking down into Heaven.  Seth remarked that it only makes sense, “Hell is the easy choice.  The road to Heaven is difficult, but the reward is great.”

We had grown weary from all the sightseeing and travel.  It was the perfect time to relax on the beach at Kız Kalesi where several of our friends were already waiting.  The beach we selected for our bumming is famous for its “Maiden’s Castle.”  According to the legend, a once powerful king was told by a fortune teller that his beloved daughter would soon die from a snakebite.  Thinking himself rather clever, the king built a castle out in the middle of the ocean where no snakes could reach his princess.  Unfortunately, one clever reptile hid in a basket of grapes the king sent as a housewarming gift, fulfilling the fortune teller’s prophecy.

There is not much to recall about the beach.  In summary, there were great quantities of sitting, reading, and staring off into the distance.  At one point we did rent a paddle boat and venture out to the Maiden’s Castle for some exploring.

Maiden's Castle on the coastal horizon.

Khalid and Seth exploring the Maiden's Castle.

We spent that night in Kız Kalesi.  Early the next morning we convened for breakfast before parting ways.  The journey home was exhausting.  Despite the fact that our bus was running an hour late, the driver still felt it necessary to stop every hour for tea.  After about ten hours on the move, Seth and I arrived back in Malatya just in time to catch the very last bus to the university.  Our moods soured at the thought of waking up early to teach the next day.  However, the trip was undoubtedly worth it.

To start, Seth and I were given, through no consultation, a shared apartment that was scarcely ready for occupation.  Though furnished and decently decorated, the only appliance that worked was the oversized refrigerator.  Apparently Turkish custom deems it acceptable to send two men into a single apartment that lacks hot water, heat, a functional toilet, a sink that drains, a shower head which does not spray water all over the bathroom, and a balcony which does not serve as a roust for hundreds of pigeons and their subsequent piles of droppings.

Although overwhelming at first, most of these issues were taken care of in a timely manner.  The toilet and sink were repaired within the week.  Seth and I simply purchased a new shower head and managed to install a makeshift shower curtain.  As for the fecal-caked-porch, well, we rolled up our sleeves and scrubbed it clean.  The process certainly gave the hamam a run for its money in the “who can make the foreigners feel the most disgustingly dirty” competition.

Once the apartment was up to snuff, we invited a group of fifteen Fulbrighters to come stay with us for a weekend trip to Mount Nemrut.  This peak is believed to be the ancient tomb of King Antiochus I, who so humbly adorned his grave with a large statue of himself flanked by such gods as Hercules, Zeus, and Apollo.  Over time the statues have fallen into disrepair through a combination of natural forces and suspected iconoclasm.   We wanted to catch the sunset from atop Nemrut, so we scheduled a day full of activities and sites to see along the way.

The hired minibus arrived outside our apartment at seven in the morning.  The driver, a physical education student at Inonu, agreed to be our chauffeur extraordinaire for the entire day.  Our first stop was a delicious breakfast of fresh cucumber, tomato, olives, bread, cheese, unlimited tea, and honeycomb.  Shortly after stuffing ourselves, we began the drive through a valley of seemingly endless tobacco fields.  At the top of a large hill, we stopped for a photo opportunity by a six hundred year old tree.  I admit the tree was nice, but I much preferred the view of the village below.

After an hour and a half of more driving, we pulled over to walk through the ancient city and burial ground of Perre Orentli in Adiyaman.  These ruins date back hundreds of years B.C. and expand across an entire hillside.  I was surprised by how little the site was maintained.  We were able to crawl all over and inside the tombs, snapping picture wherever we desired.  As we continued on, we made brief stops by the columns of Karakus Tumulus, constructed by Mithridates II in the first century B.C., and the Old Kahta Fortress once used by the Romans.

Our last major stop before arriving at Mount Nemrut was the Cendere Bridge built by Roman Emperor Septimus Severus in 198 A.D.  The “dry” bridge was constructed without any grout or mortar and was specially designed to withstand earthquakes.  Miraculously the arch and three of four pillars are still standing.  Equally magnificent in comparison with this architectural feat is the breathtaking gorge that the bridge spans.  Overwhelmed by its beauty, I immediately made my way under the bridge and spent some time skipping rocks across the river below.

Nemrut at sunset was better than I could have imagined.  To counteract the stingingly cold wind, we foreigners huddled together atop the highest accessible peak and watched the sun slowly dip behind the distant mountain range.  The multitudes watching concluded the set with a round of applause, which I found becoming.  Our first inner-Turkey trip was a great success.

Tomorrow Seth and I begin our third week of teaching.  I am unsure if it is the fact that I am teaching internationally, at the university level, a completely different subject, or some combination of all three, but my experiences here have been quite different from those in Phoenix.  However, I have made the necessary adjustments and actually feel quite successful in the classroom.

Seth and I are responsible for all hazırlık students at the foreign language school.  Hazırlık is the year-long language instruction students must receive if they fail the university English entrance examination.  Much to the benefit of the students, I have been assigned the Speaking and Listening section of hazırlık, and no unfortunate soul will have to endure my misguided grammar instruction.  Because the main goal of our classroom is to have students speak and listen, Seth and I have worked in a significant amount of culture to our lessons.  So far students have completed translations and dictations of various songs from The Beatles, Louis Armstrong, Johnny Cash, and The Cure.

That is enough for now.  I am off to Osmaniye this weekend to visit some Fulbright friends.  I am sure there will be plenty to share upon my return.

Shortly after arriving in my hotel room I met Seth, one of the fellow grantees that will be staying with me in Malatya.  Seth went to Harvard undergrad where he studied social studies (history, economics, and philosophy) and Cambridge for his graduate work, a Masters of International Education with a focus in special education.  Within five minutes of meeting each other we were discussing education policy, which I believe won us both over.  The other Fulbrighter Ellie, who we met later, got her Bachelors and Masters of Comparative Literature from Emory and then Washington University, St. Louis.  She has traveled and lived for some time in Paris and Berlin.

The rest of the grantees seem very outgoing.  At times the social aspects of orientation were a bit overwhelming.  Placing so many interesting and successful people into the same location can be a bit suffocating.  During the first several days it seemed as though group conversations frequently morphed into competitions of “Who’s Who” in international travel and academic prowess.  However, as the week progressed I found most of the grantees to be pleasant, fascinating, and incredibly humorous individuals.  I admit there were nights I laughed so hard my cheeks and abs hurt the next morning.

Most days of orientation consisted of nine hours of lectures.  They ran the gamut of basic security to English teaching practices and even some lengthy lectures on Turkish political history.  For the most part the sessions were quite painful.  The politics and history would have been interesting if the lecturers had not droned on for 3 hours straight with no visual aids or handouts.  The Turkish lessons were somewhat useful, though they moved quickly and were difficult to follow.  The highlights of orientation were certainly the field trips we made at various points throughout the week.

Our first stop was Ataturk’s Mausoleum, a large and beautiful complex which honors Turkey’s beloved hero and first president.  Ataturk is revered in Turkey for his post WWI campaign to establish Turkey as its own republic, governing all land within its “natural borders”.  The mausoleum also featured a museum with many of Ataturk’s personal items and exhibits on the political, social, and economic development of the Republic of Turkey.  (Unfortunately my camera ran out of batteries and I have no pictures for this.)

On Saturday the 10^th we traveled to the older part of Ankara for lunch at a delightful restaurant that overlooked the city.  Following our meal, Seth and I went with several ETAs from last year to what is known as a hamam, or Turkish bath house.   Men and women use hamams as a means of relaxation and a chance to socialize during the day.  You strip down to nothing but a towel and travel through a series of saunas that differ in temperature and humidity.  When you can take the heat no longer, you wait in the common room rinsing yourself with cool water until one of the tellaks (washers) is ready for you.

What proceeds is unquestionably one of the most unique and unhygienic cultural experiences.  Some man, generally old, freakishly strong, and wearing nothing but a towel proceeds to stretch your muscles and crack your bones.  Then your entire body is exfoliated with a scrubber that is used on everyone else visiting the hamam with nothing but a simple rinse in between.  No matter how clean or hygienic you are, dead skin begins to roll off your body with every stroke.  Then, you are lathered up with soap and massaged.

The tellaks are merciless in sparing you from pain.  The exfoliation leaves your skin with a gentle burn and the massaging with winces of pain.  In lieu of simple gestures for “roll over” as swift, open-handed slap on the upper thigh suffices.  If you miss the stinging message the first time it is repeated over and over until the pain induces an epiphany.  At the conclusion of the bath you rinse off once more and are wrapped in towels by the hamam’s staff.  As you will notice in the picture of Seth and I featured below, the towel-wrapping style is reminiscent of the late Byzantine period.

Taylor and Set Post-Hamam

On September 11^th we went to the ambassador’s house for a remembrance ceremony.  The house was truly stunning, and I thought the ambassador’s words to mark the occasion were well spoken.  That afternoon we took a bus trip into town to visit an “amusement park”.  We sat around and drank tea.  I had my first Turkish coffee which set my heart racing for a solid hour.  Seth enjoyed some of the rides.  We have a sequence of pictures with him cheerfully raising his arms at the top of some rotating, swinging ride.  The concluding picture is of him making a frowny face because he was puked on by some Turkish woman and had to change into one of the girl’s turquoise v-cut shirt.

Ankara Youth Park (Gençlik Park)

The remainder of orientation covered mostly information regarding best teaching practices.  Some of the activities were actually enjoyable.  However, for the most part the days continued to drag by.  We left for our placement areas on Thursday morning.  Malatya was a meager eleven hours away.  I intend to save my impressions of the city for my next blog.  So far things are going well, but there are always adjustments and surprises that arise.

I hope everyone is doing well.  Please write and/or come visit if you can!

My first stop was Belfast, Northern Ireland.   I stayed with a lovely couchsurfing host named Niamh (pronounced Neeve).  She truly made me feel at home with her hospitality.  I arrived, unfortunately, on a bank holiday when most of the government buildings were closed.  I used the first day to visit the Ulster Museum, Botanical Gardens, and then to venture down Shankill road to see the loyalist murals from The Troubles, the time period when paramilitary Catholic republicans clashed with Protestant loyalists who wished to stay under the rule of the Crown.  Many of the more gruesome and inflammatory murals have been painted over with images that portray a more positive message.

That night Niamh invited her family over and cooked a splendid meal.  The group was very friendly and curious about my travels.  Her father told the funniest stories that required my fullest attention for they were told very quickly and in a thick northern Irish accent.

Day two in Belfast was my time to hit all the stops I missed due to the holiday.  On the long walk up from Niamh’s house, I visited Queen’s College.  That afternoon, I took an hour long tour of City Hall and walked through the Linen Hall Library’s exhibit on propaganda from The Troubles.  My stomach was rumbling with hunger after all the walking so I ducked into a pub for a wonderful bowl of Irish stew and a Smithwicks before heading home.

The following morning I walked into town and caught a bus to Carlingford, Irelandwhere my friend Ali lives.  I met Ali (can you all guess?) while studying in Mexico.  Carlingford, her home town, is absolutely breathtaking.  This quaint, medieval village sits on the coast and is surrounded by modest peaks. It is home to King John’s Castle, constructed in the early 13^th century.

First thing Ali and I did is climb up to the saddle of the nearest hill for a scenic view of the surrounding area.  We then strolled through town before driving around to meet some of Ali’s friends and family.  Unfortunately Ali had to work that night because her sister was ill and needed someone to fill in for her.  I simply took an evening stroll and then at nightfall went to her restaurant where I was served delicious sea food and chatted with DJ, the chilled out bartender.

The following morning Ali drove us both down to Dublin to meet up with our mutual friend Ciara.  Ciara just started teaching at a Montessori school in Dublin, but she had the afternoon off to spend with us.  We spent some time catching up at Ciara’s house and then drove out to the Botanic Gardens followed by a long hike downtown where we crossed the river Liffey and viewed Christ Church Cathedral, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and Trinity College.  On the way home we stopped by the apartment of Steve and James to chat.

The next morning I found my way onto the proper bus for heading into town.  I strolled across the Ha’penny Bridge into Temple Bar, several city blocks which have maintained their original medieval design including many cobblestones.  Soon thereafter I walked to the western part of the city to visit the Guinness Storehouse Brewery, which is by far the most difficult place to find.  However, those who do make it to its blackened gates are greatly rewarded.  The tour itself was self-guided, and therefore, not spectacular.  The top floor, known as the Gravity Bar, is worth the entry fee alone.  It overlooks all of Dublin and its surrounding hills.  While taking in the expansive city view, each visitor is awarded a “complementary” pint of Guinness.  My bartender was especially creative and left a little design in the head.

That afternoon I met up with Ciara to walk through the Dublinia Museum attached to Christ Church Cathedral.  This exhibit featured the Viking History of Dublin and was very engaging.  Afterward we went to the Jameson Distillery Tour, one of the few Dublin must-sees that Ciara had not been to.  The tour was much more informative than Guinness and led by a witty tour guide.  I was selected as one of the lucky few “whiskey tasters”.  At the end of the tour I was trained on how to be a connoisseur of whiskey.  I was even given a certificate to mark my achievement.  (Mom and dad must be so proud).

The following morning we woke up and drove out to Glendalough, a valley located in the Wicklow Mountains.  On the grounds there is an ancient monastery from the early 12th century.  Surrounding the ancient ruins is a community cemetary which has tombstones from the mid-1700s.  The walking trails in the area are very peaceful and lead to a pristine lake.

Lake at Glendalough

That night we cooked at Ciara and Paul’s place with a slew of friends for a final hurrah.  I woke up early this morning and Ciara was kind enough to see me to the bus stop.  Now, I am back in London. freshly showered and with clean clothes that are neatly packed back into my suitcase.  Tomorrow morning I depart for Turkey.  We will complete a ten day orientation that ends September 15^th at which point we will venture to our respective universities.

Miss you all!

Taylor, Ali, Ciara, and Ali's Shoe.

For the past several weeks, Dee has been volunteering at Emerson College, a Steiner School located on several acres of immaculate land.  The weather changed nearly every ten minutes between the extremes of a deluge and bright sunshine.  When it was nice everyone would walk outside through the gardens or take a trip into town.  When the rains came we typically put on a pot of tea and read in the library.  There was some occasional guitar playing as well.

The people at Emerson were inspiring.  In terms of nationality, they were quite diverse, coming from all corners of the globe.  Despite the difference of background, each seemed to share a tenacious passion for self- and societal-improvement.  Although they had made incredible journeys themselves, most were interested in hearing about my life and my pursuits.  They left me with only words of affirmation and encouragement, and I feel lucky to have crossed their paths even if only for a brief time.

On Friday, Joanna, another friend from Mexico, picked me up and drove me north to her home in Croydon.   I was still adjusting to the time change so we made it an easy morning and had some coffee with her “mum”, a former teacher.  Through our conversation, I gathered that the U.K. is struggling through some of the same educational woes as the States.  However, culturally and politically, European teachers seemed to be held in higher esteem and do not face the continual disparagement of the “new education reform movement” like those in the U.S.

In the mid-afternoon we took a train out to Greenwich and walked around.  The area was quite beautiful and the Dim Sung in the market was unspeakably delicious.  I was able to visit the National Observatory which is the location of the Prime Meridian.  That night we went to one of Jo’s friend’s mother’s fiftieth birthday party.  It was great to spend time with some true Englishmen and women on their own turf.  Jo’s friends were incredibly friendly and shared much about their life in London. 

The following day we woke up early and sprinted (literally) to the station down the road.  We managed to catch the train and head into central London for a day of much sightseeing and even more walking.  We frequented all the usuals, my favorite of which was St. Paul’s Cathedral.  They wanted to charge £15 for entry.  However, we simply told them we were going to an upcoming service and they let us in for free.  We did sit through the Mass held in the center of this splendid structure, and for going to church we were awarded with sunshine when we walked back outside. 

 

St. Paul's Cathedral

Parliament and Big Ben

The next morning I took the train back to Jo’s and we spent a lazy afternoon watching “The Queen” to give me a better idea of the tensions between the political “modernizers” and the more traditional royalty.  At the conclusion of the movie, Jo’s dad was kind enough to take us out to dinner at a Spanish tapas restaurant.  Afterward we walked through the parts of Croydon that were hit by the recent riots.  The riots have acted as a catalyst for many important discussions in London including the responsibility that should be placed on the youth and their parents.  People are beginning to question what is going wrong in the microcosms of home and school that would cause young people to act with such a lack of discretion and utter disregard for the rule of law.

Currently I am in Gatwick airport waiting for my gate to open.  I am now on my way to Ireland for a week.  But more on that later…