Workers of the World, Unite!

I was bored. (So many of my stories start like this, don't they?). Bored with Istanbul. Bored with my school. Bored with my students. And bored with the other teachers, especially. By the way, I had always thought that TEFL would draw the most interesting, liberal, and openminded people. Well, it doesn't. It draws the most socially awkward, alcoholic, schizophrenic people. Seriously, everyone leaves home for a reason. Mine were (you may argue this point) political and cultural. However, most people's are psychological. Can't get a girlfriend? Move to Istanbul. Can't afford to go out drinking in your home country? Move to Istanbul. Can't develop friendships in your home country because everyone speaks your language and knows you're a dumbass? Move to Istanbul...

Every night, I returned home at 10:30 after teaching all day, sat in front of the computer for a couple of hours, then laid down in bed, stared at the celing and thought, "Well, that's one more day that's been ticked off of the painfully small abacus of my life. Someday relatively soon, I'll be dead, and while that will be no great tragedy to the world, I can't help but be a little bothered by it. [sniff, sniff]" Kinda sounds like my life in Dayton, doesn't it?

Well, yeah. I have learned this year that your problems are your problems. You can forget about them by running around the world, doing interesting things and meeting interesting people, but when the money runs out, when you're forced back into real life - that's where you're at. You're yourself... And what I've learned about myself is that I'm addicted to opportunities. That's what it's all about. That's why I have trouble spending money. That's why I have trouble staying with girls. That's why I always dream about traveling. Decisions restrict. Comfort restricts. Stability restricts. And for me, at least at this point in my life, I really, really don't want to feel restricted.

So, to that end, I broke up with Emily. "But you're the asshole with the problem!" several of you just shouted. Yeah, well, life ain't fair. My life was a sinking ship, and I'm not the kind of guy who lets the women and children off first. Uh-uh. I'm more likely to throw a couple donkey punches, jump in the lifeboat, and laugh all the way to the nearest utopian desert island. Think I'm a schmuck?

Well, so did everyone here. For the first few weeks, at least, I was the resident asshole at English Time. The usually-tittering level 1 girls began to scowl at me when I walked by. I got the cold shoulder from the other teachers. In fact, the only people who would really talk to me were Altug (a very un-Turkish Turkish man) and Duygu (the prototypical Turkish girl, who easily makes all other Turkish girls look like twisted accidents). However, Emily's sullenness lasted for only a short week. She very quickly passed the rejection, overcame the betrayal, and used those wits of hers we all love to say, "You know what, Aaron? This was a damn good idea. Our relationship sucked, and it was getting in the way of something much more important - our friendship." And to that sentiment, we've been raising our glasses of Efes ever since. At this point, Emily's and my lives were instantly transformed for the awesome.

Suddenly, a world of possibilites that had always existed, but had been hidden by our constitutional lethargy, was opened before us, and we spared only a few moments to stamp our feet on the ground before we raced off into the bright, Istanbul sunshine. Emily made a lot of friends. She started going dancing a lot. She became far more outgoing, more social, and more entertaining, somehow without losing that endearing quality that separates her from the droves of other chattering balls of insecurity. She very quickly recaptured that spark of wonderment that makes her friends (in which number I am honored to count myself) feel like they're the most important people in the world. She is, again, the author of her own destiny, and to those of you who are lucky enough to be written amongst her pages, I say "Congratulations!"

As for me, my life got interesting too. A whirlwind romance quickly developed between me and that incomparable beauty, Duygu. I don't know how it happened, but as we were standing on the top of the island, Buyukada, staring across the Sea of Marmara at The City, her face began to look more and more like the sun, and mine, the sea. And at sunset, when the two met, it was as if the real world no longer existed. The darkness that spread across Kadikoy served only to hide life's ugly reality from our suddenly sensitive eyes.

But her boyfriend didn't like that...

See, this is Turkey, right? Well, this girl was practically engaged to a guy who had been going to University in the south of Turkey for the last 4 years. I very quickly found out that: 1) He was just finishing medical school. 2) He was rich. 3) He was moving to Istanbul in 3 weeks to claim her, marry her, and whisk her off into a world of garden parties and sun dresses. So, I laid on the charm, O my faithful audience. I pulled out all the stops. I played all of my cards (and in the right order, too!). We spent the most incredible 3 weeks together. There were no garden parties, but there were numerous late night walks, fancy dinners, glasses of red wine, and even a dance under a streetlight! Yes, my friends, I was Richard Gere and she was Julia Roberts, only hot. I would have won an Oscar for my role, believe me... Except that the Turks don't know how to appreciate a good love story, unless it has a tragic ending. Every movie, song, and novel that gets produced in this country ends in infidelity, cancer, or untimely death.

I don't know how this one's going to end, except that it doubt it will be good... The boyfriend is here, and last I heard, she had left him. [applause] However, I won't see her for about a week, as her and Dr. Caglar have some bonding or something to do before he puts his tail between his legs and returns to Mersin, where he can frequent his garden parties, wifeless.

Sounds good, doesn't it? Sounds like I won? Yeah, well, as I see it, there are 2 possible endings to this story. 1) Caglar leaves, and Duygu decides that she will have some fun with her newly acquired freedom, vomiting up 4 1/2 years of repressed sexuality on an unsuspecting Istanbul (and making my life hell in the process). or, perhaps worse: 2) Duygu decides that she truly loves me, sends Caglar packing, and figures that since she left her rich doctor fiancee for me, I had better well marry her. This ends in a midnight border run for Bulgaria, or Turkish babies, neither of which is particularly appealing to me... This, my friends, is Turkey...

In other news, my contract is finishing in two months. I will have put away a bit in the bank by that time, which I will use to fund a 2 month long sojourn into the great Northeast (I think). Last November, the Ukrainian government decided to scrap the visa rules for Americans, so I can easily jump on a frieghter here in Istanbul and end up in Odessa the next morning. From there, it's only a short train ride up to Moscow and St. Petersburg, from which I intend to continue exploring the region by hitting up Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania, finally settling back in Prague for a month, licking my wounds (and hopefully getting some fresh ones).

After Prague, who knows? The money to be made here in Istanbul is practically endless. I'm going through a round of interviews at universities right now, but unfortunately, they all require me to have a valid work visa (which means returning to the US to pick it up). Eeeek. Not really an option. So, I'm thinking about coming back here, doing some part-time work, and picking up some private students. In any event, that will result in my having a kick-ass flat next year (sharing with Thomas, my old roomate from Prague, and a cracking guy!), so if I end up here again, and you visit, you won't freeze on the floor of an unfurnished office building (sorry Ron!)

If after reading this, you still think I'm an asshole, I won't argue. But I'm a happy asshole. And if I traded my comfort for your approval, I'd be a terrible human being (but a good American). Good night, my slightly smarting patriots! My name is Aaron, king of kings! Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair! Happy May 1st. Hope the immigrants are kicking ass over there!

I Am Just an Ordinary Guy...

Yes, I burned down the house...

Well... Sort of...

I've told you all that our apartment is dodgy. I've told you all that the electric is dangerous. Well, I told my landlord too, but, eh, this is Turkey...

Monday morning, I woke up, feeling quite good, actually, and stumbled into the bathroom for a shower. We very rarely take showers these days because the significantly-less-than-hot water comes out in a thin stream, capable only of warming a breast or a buttock, while the rest of the body has no succor from the biting, below-zero cold of our bathroom. See, you have to understand Turkish showers... Instead of putting a hot water heater in a house, which would be far too convenient and therefore, unnecessary, they have only cold water in many houses. So they stick a little plastic box inside the shower which quickly heats the sub-arctic water flowing through your pipes. I mean, imagine that... They put a plastic box that chugs 7000 watts a second inside your shower!

Anyhow, on this particular morning, the water was even colder than usual, but since I hadn't showered in about 4 days, I felt obliged to my students to step in anyhow. Well, after about three minutes under the icy fountain, Emily began screaming and running around the house. Startled, I dashed out of the shower, naked, (semi-relieved to find any excuse to turn off that sadly insufficient stream) and threw open the bathroom door... Yep, the house was on fire...

Our shower, which is potentially the least safe electronic device in the world, and our electric system, which has potentially the least safe wiring in the world, joined forces on Monday, and the result was a smoldering pile of plastic and leather. Straight underneath our main electric line (which was just a hole in the wall with several dubious looking wires stuffed inside) was a plastic shoe rack. And a telephone. The wires apparently burst into flames, and the coating on the wires dripped down onto the rack, which promptly caught on fire.

Seeing this, I ran into the bedroom, grabbed a blanket, and instead of doing the smart thing, which would have been to beat the fire out with it, I whipped it around my wet, naked body, shuffled outside, and began screaming "Help!" Mary Ann quickly joined in. Emily, on the other hand, kept the cat (we were catsitting) safe, while collecting water from the kitchen and dousing the fire.

Soon, a nice man from downstairs showed up with a blanket with which he wasn't covering his genitals, and quickly beat the fire out... Of course, I still had to go to work. But, I soon noticed that my shoes had... melted... So, while Mary Ann was calling people, and Emily was (of course) taking the cat to a safe place, I was wrapping plastic bags around my feet. I then stuffed my feet into my slippers and trudged down the street with Mary Ann holding my arm, our faces smeared with soot, laughing and hobbling (because the plastic bags kept tripping me, and I kept falling down) past throngs of gawking Turks. Of course, the first thing my boss said was, "Why you teaching in plastic bags, mate? You lost it?"

It took us a full day of arguing, 2 Turkish friends, 3 electricians, and a full pot of tea, but we finally got our landlord to agree to pay for the damages. Well, not our shoes, or our telephone... But he's putting in a new shower that is less likely to kill us, and new wires, which are more likely to form a safe, meaningful relationship with our shower. In the end, I still wince everytime I press an "on" button, and I won't shower if I'm alone in the house, but other than that, it's just like home :)

International Ataturk!

So, I'm sitting in an airport right now. (I know, I know, it's kind of like a vampire going to mass, but here I am.) I'm waiting for Ron, whose flight has been delayed a couple of hours due to the HORRIBLE PERVERSION OF GRAVITY THAT IS AIR TRAVEL... Or weather...

Emily's beside me, reading about the bird flu. Apparently there are 11 suspected cases in Istanbul right now, but that's probably not correct for 2 reasons: 1) Right now it's Kurban Bayram, which is kind of like Christmas. People are visiting their relatives, and probably more inclined to wait until after Bayram to go to the hospital. 2) Right now it's Kurban Bayram, which is kind of like Rambo. People are slaughtering sheep and cows by the thousands in designated "slaughter zones," which one would think would quickly become breeding grounds of disease, bird flu and otherwise. The WHO assures us that there is still no human to human transmission. As long as you don't play with chicken heads (not uncommon, two children have already died from this), or have sex with chickens (not common, but hey... it happens), you shouldn't be at risk.

On an interesting side note, apparently in one of the eastern villiages, a man had sex with his neighbor's chicken, so the neighbor shot and killed him. Of course, it was a terrible tragedy. The police came, whisked the neighbor off, and... gave him a pat on the back. That's right, the neighbor was heralded as a hero for protecting his village from the bird flu. Go figure.

In any event, I'm not so worried about the bird flu. Of course, I've been shying away from pigeons lately, but my daily life is pretty much not affected. However, if they give the official human to human transmission call, I'm heading north to Siberia a bit early.

In other news, I went to Greece last month. Alexandroupolis. A little port city, 44 km from the Turkish border. Unfortunately, it was St. Something-or-Other's day, so everything was closed, other than the liquor stores. Oh, yeah, it felt good to be back in Europe, where they have their priorities straight! Actually, it was nice to be there for a couple of days. Parks. Clean streets. Quiet. However, it was pretty boring. We sipped horrendously overpriced Cappuccinos with the nouveau riche EU citizens, and gawked at the identity-less little town, which could easily have been a trendy holiday villiage in Northern Michigan. Has capitalist cultural egalitarianism really spread this far? And is the EU nothing more than a willing vessel?

Well, the point is, when I returned to Istanbul, I found out exactly how much I appreciated it. It's dirty, crooked, polluted, and often infurating, but, damnit, it's got character. As our hotel train wound through the suburbs, and I was stuffing the pillows, blankets, and ashtrays into my luggage (Hey, it's everybody for himself in this country), I felt like I was coming home. And that my bed would be a lot more comfortable....

This feeling was intensified after Thomas, my old roomate from Prague, visited last week. He came down for about 12 days, over Christmas and New Years (which the Turks call Christmas. Interestingly enough, they have lights, trees, and all the trappings that come with Christmas, but they celebrate it on December 31st, and it has nothing to do with anything. Many of them don't even know who Christ was, and Santa Claus, who was actually born in Turkey, doesn't even appear on their Coca-Cola products in December!)

During that time, Em and I got to be the hosts and tour guides, and as a result, we had to condense all the pleasant things in Istanbul into 2 weeks, and to keep Thomas away from the discomforts. As a result, we realized that we really do love this city... At least, parts of it. Istanbul just isn't as immediately appreciable as Prague, Paris, or London. It takes time to grow on you, infect you, cover you in a thin, but strikingly visible, layer of grime, then weasel its tentacle-like ovaries inside you and lay its eggs, at which point you become a carrier, showing no symptoms, but capable of infecting others...

Come visit me in Istanbul....

It's wonderful....

We all float down here...

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.

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?