A Different Solicitor

The doorbell rang again last night, this time at 9pm. I peeped through the peephole, and there was another Asian woman. I opened the door.

"Yooo wan wahch an EVD?"

"No thank you."

Ahhh...watches and DVD's. I found out, though, that the first woman was probably saying, "Lady." Door-to-door saleswomen of watches, DVD's, and um...themselves. I need to post a sign that I don't wish to purchase any of their merchandise.

Yoo Wan a Wadi?

My doorbell rang around 11pm last night. Sure glad I have a peephole! I peeped, and there was a small Asian woman outside. I opened my door and said hello.

"Yooo wan a wadi?"

"I'm sorry, could you say that again please?"

"Yooo wan a wadi?"

Well, I couldn't tell if she was saying, Lady, wadi (oasis in Arabic), or some other word I couldn't recognize. But I figured, whatever she was offering at 11pm, I didn't want any.

Anyway...life went as normal here, as it's the second day of the workweek. No sunrise service, no candy baskets. I hope everyone had a wonderful Easter sunday as you got to celebrate!

Things that still need to be fixed in my apartment

• installment of internet
• removal of mysterious appearing ants
• clearing of rust from tank that gives hot water to kitchen sink
• discovery of why bathroom floor floods when taking showers (and yes, the curtain is inside the tub)
• hanging of curtains, bathroom shelf, and Sri Lankan tapestry
• attainment of living room furniture
• superglue (ie, "jerry rig") the bottom panel of the wardrobe door
• reupholster the cushions on dining room chair

Throw Down Over Rubbish!

Just yesterday I wrote a friend and explained it was really safe here--no worries at all. I still think that, even after what happened this morning.

I was standing outside waiting for the P5 to come pick me up. There were two men over by the dumpsters: one wearing a bright orange worksuit, (and therefore very obviously a garbage man), the other dressed in a white Muslim "workerman" suit (and therefore not necessarily a garbage man). The man in white found a large paintcan that he seemed very pleased with, and decided he wanted to take home on his bike. The man in orange was not happy with this disruption of his work, or the removal of his trash by someone other himself.

They began to exchange some heated words, and then the man in white raised the paintcan over his head and hit the man in orange with it! The man in orange followed in like suit and hit his opponent with the broom he'd been using. They would calm down for about 30 seconds, and then fight again. When I say fight, I don't mean argue (although they did do that)! Punching, shoving, choking one another.

Finally a nicely dressed Arab man came over, as well as several women, and began to mediate the situation. I think they resolved that the man in white could have the paintcan, but that he needed to leave the rest of the trash for the man in orange to finish cleaning up. Just then the garbage truck drove up, as did the P5, so I left. Everyone was smiling and laughing at that point, thankfully!

It reminded me of my first time on the bus in Portugal, when the bus driver got off and attacked another driver with a fire extinguisher! Does this kind of thing follow me?

Normal Internet Message in a Muslim Country?

I went, as I normally do when I have a few minutes, scanning through the blogs of all my friends around the world. I went to my friends' in China first, and enjoyed their pictures that always make me laugh so much. Then I went to the next one, and was surprised to see that there were thumbnails where pictures should be. Interesting. Moving on to the next blog, the same thing happened. I clicked on the thumbnail, which took me to another website.

Arabic everywhere, and then this message in English:

"We apologize the site you are attempting to visit has been blocked due to its content being inconsistent with the religious, cultural, political and moral values of the 'this country'. "

Well, I do declare! That's a first! (China must be more acceptable than Africa...) Even the pictures on my blog were blocked! I'm going to have to figure out how to get around that one...

The Truck Bazaar

I have moved from the land of the Grande Bazaar to the land of a plethora of bazaars!

• A pet bazaar
• A plant bazaar
• A fish bazaar
• A blue bazaar
• A gold bazaar
• And yes, a TRUCK bazaar!

We needed a large truck to pick up and move some of the furniture I've purchased for my new place. So we, (my supervisor--P1, and his wife--P2), drove over to the truck bazaar. There, on a dirt lot, were dozens of trucks, and at least double the amount of men for every truck. They were sitting on the side of the road, just waiting for someone like us to drive up. I imagined we would pull up, get out, and negotiate with the drive of the sturdiest looking truck. I imagined wrong.

After we pulled up to the side of the road, P2 locks the doors, and P1 rolls down the window. At least 20 men crowd around the car and press up against it. (It reminded me of when a riot broke out around my car in Portugal...I was waiting for them to tip the car like a cow out in the pasture!) The men on the drivers side tapped the windows and tried to get our attention, while the men on the driver's side all started trying to barter with P1 simultaneously.

Even once the truck was selected (and therefore the driver who belonged to it), there remained the issue of "laborers." P1 insisted that we only needed one laborer, but other men kept asking, "one laborer or two?" Our laborer was chosen, then cell phone numbers were exchanged, and prices set. Only recently have street names been given in this country, and many people still don't know them, so giving directions is sort of like, "The third round-a-bout after the such and such mosque." Somehow, the whole system worked, and two men (driver and laborer) arrived at the house, and the furniture back at my apartment!

P1 commented that the last time he went, two of the laborers just jumped into the backseat of his car! I guess the presence of females prevented that this time. P2 commented that it's such a testosterone experience that she could almost "feel the burly chest hairs growing!" I don't reckon I'll be going to the truck bazaar alone ever, but glad I got to experience it today. AND...I now have chairs to sit on in my apartment!

Culture Shock over One-Stop Shopping

I experienced my first full-blown culture shock yesterday while shopping for groceries. I always warn those who have just returned to the states to beware of Wal-Mart. The cereal aisle alone will overwhelm even the most traveled person and spur spontaneous tears for no known reason. Having been through that...I never expected it to happen in another country!

(For those of you who have never gone grocery shopping overseas, think opposite of Wal-Mart. Having to go to several shops to get all that you need. And only one or two choices of each type of item. And not even HALF the food luxuries that we've been brought up to love: peanut butter, cheddar cheese, funky cereals, canned soup, fresh milk).

So there I was in Carrefour, the European, Middle Eastern, Central Asian version of a super Wal-Mart. I was trying to figure out which spices I needed (and having to spin each bottle around from the Arabic side to find the English). I finally found all that I needed (and resisted the temptation to buy every Indian spice on the shelf), and turned to pick up the vegetable oil. There before me was a half aisle of sunflower oil. I'd never used sunflower oil, but thought, "Well, that's what they have here, so that's what I'll use." But how does one choose from the myriad of brands? There was no Wesson or Canola. Being a girl, I went with the prettier (and medium priced) bottle. I pushed my cart a little further down the aisle, just past a large display, and OH! Another half aisle of vegetable oil! I put the sunflower oil back and started the whole process over. I was thrilled to discover ONE brand of balsamic vinegar. A double delight, really. First, that they even HAVE balsamic vinegar, and second, that I didn't have to choose from another half aisle of bottles!

The produce section was the topper, though, and almost sent me running for cover. I pulled up to the "citrus aisle." I've never seen so many kinds of oranges and lemons in my life! I looked up, and to my (decision making) horror and (world traveling) delight, saw that they were all from different countries. How does one decide? Pakistani oranges or Lebanese valencias? I got one of several different kinds, and figured I'd work my way through them to see which I like best. I grew even more excited to discover the Asian pear/apple that grew in my backyard when I was living in Korea as a child. Yummy.

So it goes living in a global village. Every kind of people means every kind of food at the grocery store. Albeit more overwhelming than Wal-Mart, my heart is happy! I can buy peanut butter and chicken tikka masala all in one stop shopping!

(And Team India--remember those yellow balls we handed out to lepers for food? They even sell those!)

Rain in the desert!

Apologies again for my disappearance. I've still been out at the guest house all week. The money transfer for my apartment only arrived today, so I finally got my key in hand! Then the madness of shopping began: starting from scratch for an apartment is nuts! For the first time in my life, I picked out a fridge and a washing machine! We're still working on the living room furniture...

I'm afraid my internet access may continue to be sparse for a little while longer. But rest assured that I will be back in full force when my apartment gets online.

Off to eat chinese food. Oh! It rained today. =) In the desert. =) Very cool thing to see.

Finally Home!

I do apologize for my disappearance and silence over the last few days. I am staying at a guesthouse where the Internet is...negligible... We've been busy apartment hunting for days. Just to give you an idea of how it goes overseas...

We wandered into a building and asked the front desk security guard if there were any apartments available for rent in the building, to which he responded, "No, sorry, all full." (We've learned that the only English they know is "All full.") Then we asked when something would be available, and he pointed to a number for us to call. Another guard came out and we asked again if there were apartments available. "No. Only one bedrooms and studios." (Note: The negative and positive response all together.) This was the building where they gave us 12 keys and told us to figure out which one worked.

When we called later that evening about that one bedroom, we were told it had already rented that afternoon. The realtor said, however, that he had another one bedroom in that same building. We made an appointment for the next day. When we met with him, he said an additional one bedroom had opened up in another building across the street. We looked at the first apartment, and then headed across the street.

This upteenth apartment we looked at was so beautiful! We asked the realtor to hold it until the next day for us, and to call if anyone else was inquiring about it. He agreed. When we called the next day about it, we were told it had rented that morning. Frustration! But the realtor then added that someone had moved out of the same building the previous night, so there was a new apartment available, but would probably rent out that same day. We'd have to make a down payment immediately to hold it a day.

We hurried over and looked at it. It was just as beautiful as it's upstairs counterpart, but with a balcony! and for the same price! He said his co-workers were on their lunch break, which gave us several hours. When we returned two hours later with the deposit, we were informed that another renter had made an inquiry, and he would rent it that evening if we didn't sign right then. (That's how fast things rent here). So we signed.

And I now have an apartment (in theory)--with a balcony! I imagine things can still go wrong, but it feels good to know there is a deposit down on a place.

It's apartment 1307--that'd make me nervous except that it's actually the 15th floor. It has a view of the park that is just out the door, and the lagoon that is just past the park. It is in the exact location of where we wanted it to be--walking distance to everything, with lots of the kinds of people I like all around! As soon as we pay for the whole year (in the next few days), I can begin moving in! It's nice to know that I have a home for a whole year (inshallah...)

And I made my first friend today. A lady in the elevator, when she found out I'd just arrived, invited me to have tea sometime. She came up to my host's apartment to give me her business card, so I can call her. I think I'll be having chai again quite soon...

Apartment Hunting

We hit the pavement today and just started going from one high rise to the next, asking if there were apartments to rent. A nice Indian (yes, Indian!) security guard told us at each one that there were no apartments, the whole building was full. We must have asked at 20 some buildings--all full.

We looked at three apartments (one which turned out to not be available after all)--two 1-bedrooms and one 3-bedroom (which is entirely too big for me and the Keefe's).

At one building, the Indian (yes, Indian!) security guard handed us three key chains. One of the rings had 11 keys on it. We asked him, "Which key is the correct one?" He didn't know. He told us if none of them worked, to try one of the keys on the other chains. As we worked our way through the 11 keys, we started laughing harder and harder. Who hands a key chain of 11 keys to a prospective renter and says, "You go figure it out!" #10 finally worked.

I've seen 1-bedroom apartments and studios that are half the price of 5 bedroom "villas" (houses). I've seen signs of businesses owned by the Bin Laden family (yes, Bin Laden!). I've seen a very famous body of water that I'm going to go put my feet in tomorrow! But I have yet to see a camel. Or the place I'll lay my head for the next phase of my life. ..

First Impressions

I am sitting 26 floors up on the couch that I slept on, and was shocked when I woke up to see the view. Because I arrived at 2 in the morning, I only saw the night lights of the town. When I rose and looked out the window this morning--what a site! This place is FLAT! That's the very first impression--flatter than Texas! I've never seen such flatness, flat-a-righty. And from 26 floors up, I've got a pretty good view!

I woke with the call to prayer this morning (some things will never change). But I got to have cereal for breakfast--glory!

Those are my first, early morning thoughts of this dusty, flat place. More to come later.

Lamentful Adieu

She knows who she was, who she is, and who she has yet to be. Unconcerned with the opinions of others, she carries herself timelessly in a way from which those of a much younger generation could learn. Unbeknownst to the world that swarms around her, caught up in their day to day living, a former monarch lives in their midst. She was once royalty. Now dethroned, she still walks as though the crown jewels rest on her temple. She knows who she was.

Castles were her home. Riches were her treasure. Adventures were her life. She keeps the secrets of old locked up in the back rooms of her home and her mind. Only those who know her former identity are allowed the privilege to enter and hear the stories from the past. Only those who dare to trespass. Only those with eyes to see the regal grandeur that is still within her. She knows who she is.

I barely noticed her house. I hardly took the time to stop and glance at what she might be like, who she might be. My time with her was the blink of an eye. But I saw. I saw that only consistent time with her, watching...listening...could reveal those mysterious secrets of old locked up within her. Surely she has such depth that no one will ever fully fathom the queen that walks amongst us.

I visited her house, and saw all the decor of an exquisite personality, but didn't take the time to sit and listen to the stories behind it all. I saw the face and didn't look into the heart. Too caught up in my own youthfulness, my own stories, my path to walk, I missed the opportunity to embrace the remarkable personality of this old queen named Istanbul. She knows who she is yet to be...but do I? Will she allow me to see?

Perhaps she will forgive me, and all me to visit her castle again? Maybe next time I will have matured enough to be still in her presence and listen for what secrets she has to reveal. Each time I was still enough to look at her, I saw a glimpse of royalty. Now, on my way out, I am much more aware. I see the red carpet beneath my feet, the flying buttresses above me, the gold on all the walls. I walked in the presence of Istanbul, the Golden City, and almost forgot to bow.

Now I give my humblest adieu and farewell to the city on two continents. You have been my Turkish delight.

Saudades

If I had a magic genie that granted me three wishes, am I allowed to wish to become Jeannie on 'I dream of Jeannie?' I'm not cheating on the wishes...I just want to be able to fold my arms, blink my eyes, and all the packing to be done! I guess I could wish for that, but then I wouldn't be able to wear the cute outfit.

My boss and two coworkers are traveling to my new place in a week, and have graciously agreed to carry some of my stuff down. So I now have two and a half pieces of luggage. And someone loaned me a scale that weighs in kilos, so I've been able to check my packing. One is just under 20 kilos...perfect. The other--still working on it. The rest has to be left behind until I return to Istanbul some day...

There is something about packing up everything that stirs up the soul dust of this eternal nomad. Memories of all the past packings flush the mind and drench the mind's eyes with the faces of all those left behind, all the good byes said in times past. It is easy for the nomad to say goodbye and walk away without looking back. It is not so easy, in the confines of a small room, surrounded by the few things that are needed for life, to see that the journey is still walked alone, with not much more than a knapsack over the shoulder.

And so the sojourn goes.

Moving!

I love rain.

But I'm ready for it to go away and allow the sun to shine on my face. Good thing I'm moving to the desert. Did I mention that? I'm moving to the Arabian Peninsula. ACK!

I found out yesterday that my airline will only allow ONE piece of luggage that weighs only 20 kilos (a little over 40 lbs). I came to Turkey with four 70lb pieces. Packing ought to be interesting. =)

The Grand Bazaar

I've heard tales of it for years: the Grand Bazaar. The largest covered Bazaar in the world. People return from Turkey and tell of the maze of shops, the aggressive carpet salesmen, the myriad of trinkets, and the empty wallet. Having experienced on a regular basis the Spice Bazaar (a much smaller rendition), I prepared myself for the day. I had a list, and I would stick to it. I stopped at the ATM on the way there, and would only spend cash--no credit cards. I went by myself, so as to not get separated from anyone. And I took an empty backpack to fill with my treasures.

Every sense is bombarded upon entry. The eyes are blinded by the lights: the jewelry shops resemble the sun glistening off fresh snow, the lamps shops glowing like an old castle window, the neon lights flashing to draw your attention to the nearest carpet shop. With one breath, the nostrils are attacked by the smells of spices, Turkish delight, apple tea, cigarette smoke, and fresh meat cooking on the grill for a doner sandwich. Before long you find your mouth watering for at least one of the chais offered to you at every shop, just to bring your sugar level back up after exerting so much energy in the place. People press against you from every angle. If you are a female, you get "pressed" a little bit more, in inappropriate places. Shop owners chase after you, get right in your face, grab your hand to kiss it, redirect you towards their shop. And thus come the sounds.

"Hello? Are you lost? Are you looking for a Turkish carpet? Would you like to come into my shop? Would you like a tea? Where are you from? Parle vous frances? What are you looking for? How long have you been in Turkey? Do you need to buy gifts? Why are you ignoring me? Hello? Hello?" And so it goes...

I expected to dread every minute I was in the Grand Bazaar; I've heard such horror stories of sensory overload and brutally persistent carpet salesmen. But alas, with only days left in Istanbul, I needed to buy gifts. I was pleasantly surprised how much I enjoyed myself. The tourists were sparse today, and so it just wasn't crowded in the least, and as an added benefit--the shop owners were willing to make deals. Most were polite, took no for an answer fairly well, (one said, "Why are you breaking my heart like this?"), and brought their prices down considerably when they found out I'd been in Istanbul for three months.

My favorite shop took me by surprise. I was looking for a particular type trinket I get in every country to which I travel. I was having trouble finding it in the Grand Bazaar, but I knew it existed--I'd seen it once in my life. Surely it would be there. So in this tiny shop that was brightly lit and blaring music, I found my trinket. As I saw something else that caught my eye, I decided to buy it as well. The shop owners allowed me to sit while they wrapped my gift. The extremely loud music changed songs, and all of sudden I heard something I recognized: Eros Ramazotti, an Italian pop singer I love to hear. I turned to the shop owners and said, "This is Eros Ramazotti!" (It's not every day you hear Italian music in Turkey).

Their eyes lit up and they asked, "You like?" I nodded with a smile. "We have a clip."
"A clip?" I asked. "Yes. A clip...video?" Ahhh. They turned towards the computer and showed me their DVD collection of Eros in concert. They picked a special song for me, and we three sat and watched it together. They got so caught up in the music, they forgot to finish wrapping my gift. Once it was over, they asked where I was from. "The United States."

"Ooh! We have another clip!" I laughed and waited for what they would produce next. It was a band on stage, very dark, and I heard the intro of a great guitar solo. I listened, and asked, "The Eagles?" The very ecstatic shop owner/music lover nodded with a huge smile on his face. Hotel California is still ringing in my ears even now. They invited me to stay, listen to music with them, and drink chai. I was tempted, but thanked them and moved on.

In all, I left with three pocket mirrors, nine pashmina scarves, two tea sets, three t-shirts, a lamp that I've wanted for almost two years, and one very special unmentionable gift. No Turkish carpets. No Turkish delight. And certainly no Evil Eyes. I stuck to my list, didn't spend on the credit card, didn't get lost, and filled my backpack. I achieved all my goals. I think I'll be fine to never return there again, but I'm sure glad I went this once. I'm plum tuckered out from the sensory overload. And my wallet is empty.