Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Our house... is a VERY, VERY, VERY Turkish house...

At first, it was romantic...

Every morning, Emily and I would walk down Istiklal Caddesi, jump on the 2nd oldest metro in the world (it used to be pulled by horses), then embark on an epic journey across continents, gliding across the sparkling waters of the Bosphorous, sipping Turkish tea, and gazing out at the ivory minarets framing one of the most glorious wonders of the ancient world, the Hagia Sofia....

That was the first week...

After that, every morning, Emily and I would trudge down Istiklal Caddesi, fighting our way through the tired transvestites and gridlocked traffic, and squeeze into the 2nd oldest metro in the world (it used to be dragged up a steep hill by horses), then endure a rather tiring ferry ride across continents, slicing through the disgusting sludge of the Bosphorous, clutching my tea to keep warm, and squinting through the air pollution out at the dirty, crumbling minarets framing the most badly upkept, overpriced wonder of the ancient world, the Hagia Sofia....

In truth, the trip is really very interesting, and it can be quite beautiful, when you don't have to do it twice a day, every day. However, we did, so having grown weary from our ocassionally epic, but more often hectic, journey, Emily and I jumped into the first apartment in Kadiköy we could find.

Let me explain Kadiköy... First, it's very old. Back before Istanbul became the senses-assaulting megalopolis that it is, Kadiköy was different city, inhabited by the Chaldeans, whom you may have heard of if you stayed awake in HST 101. Yes, it is a rag-tag mix of decayed old buildings and decayed new buildings, but it IS cosmopolitan, and it IS pretty action packed, and it does have a hell of a lot of really nice cafes, bars, and even a nice old man who sells pirated porn DVDs, right next to the fish market, from sun-up to well past sun-down (his method of evading the police consists of kicking over the shoebox where he keeps the porn and running when he sees cops). So, when our head teacher said that he knew a student who had met a guy who had a friend who was renting a flat in Kadiköy, only a three minute walk from English Time, we called him immediately, and we met Akif, THE stereotypical Turkish man, although he doesn't wear a fez.

He's old, maybe 65, but very squirrely and excitable. He has two teeth on top, and is missing two on the bottom, so that his smile looks like a jigsaw puzzle, and he walks around, massaging his oversized belly, flipping his Tespi around and around, moaning Allah, Allah, Allah about the price of everything in the stores, cafes, restaurants, and streets. He told us he wasn't the landlord, but rather, the landlord's cousin. Because Akif speaks English, and Hasan, our future landlord, doesn't, he came along to translate. And to tell us all about his amazing business opportunities in Bulgaria, Greece, and any other county with exploitable resources (Turkey has already exploited all of its own).
So, he showed us the flat. It was an office in a really old building and as such, it has tile floors, a tiny bathroom, no kitchen, and no gas heat. Oh yeah, and everything's pink. Of course, we took it, and moved in right away. Since a kitchen is really optional with the number of hole-in-the-wall kebap shops in Istanbul, we decided that our number one priority should be a bed, and we spent our last 100 YTL on a fantastic mattress that, despite the faint smell of cat urine, must be the most comfortable thing in all of Istanbul.

Now, 100 YTL is around 75 US dollars, and this is a huge, reasonably nice mattress, and I tell you that even in Istanbul, that's a steal. How did we pull that off from a city that prides itself on its ability to rip off foreigners? Simple. Akif and the shopkeeper argued about the price for a half hour until Akif finally thrust 100 YTL into the bewildered old man's hands and began dragging it down the street. Then, he tricked a young boy into carrying it the rest of the way to our flat, laughing and rubbing his belly all the way back.

So, for the first few weeks, Akif was our friend. He gave us a sofa, although it also smelled quite strongly of cat urine, brought us tea in the mornings, and eventually helped us acquire a Turkish carpet, which only has a little bit of cat urine on the corner. (This city has cats like Ohio has squirrels). When he asked me if I wanted to go into business with him, I decided to humor him saying, "Sure, Akif, sure!" and shaking his hand vigorously.

The next night, he cornered me in the street and dragged me into a nearby kahvehane (dingy old place where old Turkish men in slippers drink tea and gossip about everyone else - a sort of Turkish Waffle House), where he told me that he wanted to make an office out of my living room (which, to this day, is used only for sucking all the heat out of my room and the kitchen), get the internet and a few phone lines, and make business. When I nervously asked him what kind of business, he didn't seem to know. Just business. Sell things. Make money. Turkish business...

Hasan, our real landlord, showed up the next day at English Time, urgently looking for Emily, me, or Mary Ann (our other roomate). Exasperated, he told us, through a translator, that Akif is in no way related to him, and that we should, under no circumstances, have anything to do with him. The best translation we could find for Akif was "creepy fuck." So, we decided to avoid him in every possible way. Of course, the fact that he did nothing but stand outside our apartment and rub his belly every day, asking people if they had seen his business partner, made it hard to keep away from him. However, through negotiating an elaborate system of alleys and passages, and ducking behind parked cars, I have sucessfully mangaged to avoid talking to him for one whole month...

Naturally, there were many other problems with the flat besides scummy old men. For example, Emily, Mary Ann, and I are quite regularly nearly electrocuted to death. For the first few weeks, we saw sparks everywhere. From the lights. From the sockets. From the circuit breakers. Even in the shower! Once, while I was making tea in our electric kettle, I stuck my finger in the water to see if it was hot, and - you guessed it - I was electrocuted.

Every time something like this happened, of course, we would call Hasan, who would then bring the electrician. The twelve-year-old electrician. Well, actually, he was probably closer to sixteen, but I think the electric currents must have stunted his intellectual development, because he would always investigate the problem with a metal screwdriver, and when the outlets blew up in his face, which every one inevitably did, he would giggle, and dive straight back in, like a hawk making second pass at a wounded snake. I'm not sure if he's managed to kill himself or not, but Hasan's been bringing a new electrician around. And this one's quite capable, I think. Whereas our old electrician would fix problems by adding more and more wires until we had more live wires outside our walls than in, this new guy actually pulls out the old, decayed electric lines, and puts new, safe ones in! We love him.

And now, we have a kitchen too. Of course, our sink has no hot water, our stove is just a silver tank of natural gas and a cheap piece of sheet metal fashioned into a range top, and our refrigerator is our window ledge... Still, Emily and Mary Ann are able to fashion delicious and nutritious meals while I take full advantage of being a man in Turkey, and do nothing.

This winter is going to be a bit rough though. I mean, we have enough space heaters to keep us warm and break our piggy banks, but since our apartment building only consists of the Mex Club on the bottom floor, which cheerfully provides us with free music every night until 4:00 AM, and 7 or so empty offices before culminating in flat at the top, every killowatt we use on heating, upon touching the air, immediately vanishes out of our 70 year old windows into the cold, Istanbul night air, or creeps through our walls and floor, heating the abandoned offices, which, unlike in most apartment buildings, refuse to contribute to a happy, heated building.

But, despite all our wacky adventures as Turkish tenants, I am growing more and more comfortable here. The culture is becoming less alien, the food is become more digestable, and the scenery, while still often disgusting beyond measure, is growing on me like the mold that Emily and Mary Ann spent last night scrubbing off our bathroom walls.

And, you'll all be happy to know that I've finally decided what I want to be when I grow up: an old Turkish man. Oh, those stately little fellows! They dress like a dapper mix between an English lord and a leprechaun! What class! What savoir faire!

Thomas - see you in a month, man. Bring some coffee yogurt from Matka Praha! That stuff's worth its weight in gold here. Oh, and if you can grab a couple of bottles of Pilsner Urquell as well, I'll be a happy, happy man.

Friday, November 04, 2005

Beer Goon in Istanbul

I had a good day in Istanbul today. As none of you know, right now is Ramazan Bayramı, a 3 day holiday marking the end of Ramadan, and the beginning of regular calorie intake. Hence, English Time is closed, and we are officially on holiday. Being that these are my first few days off in... oh... a month or so, I decided to head over to Sultanahmet.

After a brisk (It's about 8 degrees Celsius here. I have no idea what the hell that means. It's cold, but water is still wet) ferry over to Europe, we took the nice, new, air-conditioned tram a few stops down to the heart of Istanbul, Sultanahmet. Now that Ramazan's over, the area is actually navigable. We paid our 15YTL (12 USD) each to enter the Hagia Sofia, and wandered around inside for about an hour. This Church-cum-Mosque-cum-Museum dates from near the beginning of the Byzantine Empire, some 1500 years ago. And, like most really old things, it is impressive. However, it is much more impressive being that it is really old, and still absolutely gorgeous (a rare commodity here in Istanbul).

Afterwards, Em and I decided to take advantage of our situation, and explore the area a bit more. So, we headed for the back alleys of Cemberlitas and found some really, really nice areas. We had a great dinner in a traditional-seeming-for-the-tourists restaurant, where the food was actually the same price for Americans as for Turks! Then, we had tea (and Emily had nargile, but when I smoke the stuff, I feel like I'm going to die) in a charming tea house, which was, oddly enough, in the middle of a cemetary. Those enterprising Turks... Feeling satisfied and satiated, we walked back along the tramline, window-shopping, and admiring the beautiful shops and lanes (Yes, lanes! And not highway lanes! Lanes, lanes! There are actually peaceful, cobblestone lanes in Istanbul! And I found them! Ha Ha!). We stopped for bone-full fish sandwiches near the Galata Bridge, before we caught our ferry back to Kadikoy.
Now, as I finish this email, Emily is preparing for our friend Ibrahim to come over. He's bringing sarma dolma for Bayram, and he's got a bottle of wine he picked up in London. Tomorrow, we're going to our students' house for a Bayram dinner, and Sunday, our roomate's friend/lover/spiritual guide is taking us to see him whirl (he's a dervish).

Why did I just tell you about my day? Why should you care? What the hell is sarma dolma? Here's the point: Being dropped in the middle of foreign country is difficult, especially when you have no money, have no friends, and are shooting vomit all over your beautiful new dorm room. Sometimes it's even more difficult as time goes on. As you are consistenly charged 3 times the price for things because you're an American. As you spend hours every day cutting through the most insane traffic you've ever seen. As you learn, the hard way, not to turn the lights and the shower on at the same time in your new apartment. As you begin to forget about things you always took for granted, like safety, politeness, and honest business practices. And sometimes, it doesn't get any easier. Just when you think you might be being too harsh, you see a man attack a woman with a machete. Or, you see an animal slaughtered on the street. Or your landlord's friend tries to turn your living room into the office of the import-export business you "promised" to open up with him.

And maybe they're never going to improve. Maybe I'll always feel uncomfortable here in Istanbul. Maybe I'll always feel like a piggy bank surrounded by hungry kids waiting to crack me open. But hey, if I wanted comfort, I would have stayed in America. If I wanted things easy, cheap, and clean, I would have stayed in Prague. Much of the world is dirty, polluted, seedy, and insane. And I wanted to see the world, didn't I?