Back in the US

I’m on a flight from Istanbul to New York. After landing in New York, I’ll take a small flight to Boston, and be home soon thereafter. I’m in a bizarre state of mind right now. I will miss Turkey deeply and I’ve determined I’ll be back. Not just once for a visit or a tour around the country, but to stay for a long period of time, to live once again among the mosques and the bucolic scenery. I plan on making Turkey somewhat of a second home.

I’ve learned a great deal, much of which has already been mentioned, and it’ll be interesting to learn more from my experience upon reflection. I remember returning from my semester abroad in Egypt and slowly witnessing how my experience there affected me back at home – how it slowly unraveled, forever altering, or giving consciousness to, my American reality.

For that, I am grateful. And having lived in Turkey for 9 months has allowed me to conceptualize the world in an entirely different way all over again, though more so than I thought possible. It is unimaginable to those who haven’t experienced life in another country just how connected humanity seems. It requires, I believe, more than a trip here or there to get a taste of it. It requires a prolonged stay and conscious openness.

I spent my final day in Turkey in Istanbul. I fortunately woke up early that day and had a good amount of hop around and see what I had wanted to see before leaving. I wandered through the chic neighborhoods of Bebek and Ortakoy, lined with cafes overlooking the Bosphorous. I even decided on a Bosphorous tour – essentially an hour boat ride with no real agenda. The tour boat just kind of drifts around for a while before returning to the dock, but it’s relaxing. I had coffee with a friend near the Yeni Camii, where fishermen populate the bridge over the Golden Horn. It's a busy place, with boats speeding in and out, and craft dealers begging the attention of wandering tourists. Dinner was at a swanky restaurant in Sultanahmet, where the famous Blue Mosque and the Aya Sofya solemnly stare each other down not a thousand feet from one another. The food was decent, but the view of the ocean was spectacular.

The evening was special. I went, with a few friends, to a nargile cafe in an ancient stone marketplace near Sultanahmet. We sat, chatted, took in the ambiance, and met a few others’ in the mostly crowded space we occupied. In true Istanbul fashion, we met a few people from Iran and ending up sharing their birthday cake. It was delicious and a nice, celebratory way to end my time. The mix of Persian, Turkish, and English swirled about the room like the smoke from our water pipes.

Back at the airport my friend and I shared the surreal experience of abruptly being tossed back into the US. A few observations through the lens of an American turned Turk turned American:

- Americans are a shabby bunch. Since when did sweatpants and shorts replace trousers, hmm? I felt like I was I was at a huge slumber party rather than JFK.

- Americans work hard… but they’re miserable (this is based on 5 of the 6 cashiers I saw).

- Americans drink comically huge beverages. Why order a glass of water when you can order a tub of cola for 25 cents more!?!?!

I’ve been back for a few days now. It’s an indescribable feeling, really. The first morning back, I struggled to order an iced coffee. I think I’ve become rather soft-spoken after 10 months in solitude. I tried coughing out the words only half-successfully.

It’s not as if things seem new to me again. Actually everything seems familiar, only undercut by a sense of weirdness. I may be feeling some residual anxiety about being back. Because I’m newly returned, my surroundings have adopted a foreignness despite their familiarity. It’s as if there’s something mildly “off,” and I have yet to determine the roots of that strangeness.

So I reckon it’ll take a little while to feel completely re-acclimated. I’m sad about not hearing the call to prayer anymore. Though by the end of my time in Turkey I had barely noticed it, I feel its absence.

My Fulbright experience will only grow on me. I will continue to miss what is no more. I will strive to hold onto the values of a society more devoted to community. The selflessness I received from colleagues and friends and students will forever remain appreciated and loved.

Lastly, I am most grateful for a new perspective – a more broad view of the world that will carry me far and compel me to pursue peace and equality in an effort to bridge the seemingly vast differences we choose to exploit amongst one another. That being said, my experience has given me faith in peace and in the propensity for humanity to grasp onto links, no matter how fine, that draw us closer together and give us a sense of our identities as members of a greater human family.

Outside of Chora Church, Istanbul.

June 1st

The God's are telling me to go. Either that, or I've gone off the deep end. Too much alone time? Too little English? Hormones? All of that. Not only was I the only American at the track today, but I was the only person wearing shorts. And if those two characteristics aren't strange enough for the covered elderly couples who monopolize Edebali Stadyum between the hours of 3 and 7, than the fact that I was running barefoot was.

In radical, hasty decisiveness, my roommate moved to an apartment sans electricity. Having just returned from a baklava and karisik kebab bender in Gaziantep, I needed a comfortable spot to be. I've serendipitously come full circle, now residing in the hotel I was kept for the first month or so when I first arrived. Only this time, it's me, not the University, paying the bill. The stress of having to deal with sudden homelessness, compounded with my final trip to the Rector's Office for a quick gesture of appreciation, and where I was subject to a not-so-subtle anti-semitic lecture/narcissistic diatribe, was a bit much. I checked into the hotel, flung my belongings on the ground, and reached for my running sneakers. But they weren't there. Though my roommate didn't care to move my luggage with the rest of the apartment, he still managed to take my running sneakers. But after a long day - one rife with homelessness and anti-semitism - I had to take it out on the track. Lack of sneakers wouldn't stop me. I slid on my running gear and... my slip-on boat shoes... and trudged up to the stadium. Yea, it was weird, but I needed to burn off the stress and excess baklava.

I'm once again living out of my suitcases. I'm about all packed up, which is a weird feeling. And tomorrow, I'll spend the day making the rounds, saying good-bye's and see-you-later's. Everyone I run into is asking if I'll be back next year. It's sad telling them I won't, but they're excited to hear that I'll continue learning Turkish and that, one day, inshallah, I'll be back.

Now is your opportunity to ask for things. I'll hopefully print out a number of my better photographs and perhaps use them for gifts when I get home, but if there's a certain something you're dying for, something sparked by a mysterious, Orientalist, fantasy you've had since your childhood, I can try to find that certain something in the marketplace. Things I can't take home: monkeys, swords, carpets of the flying variety (they take themselves home), those ridiculous Aladdin pants (out of principle).

This is 100th post. I'm bound to write one more, probably on the melancholy flight back to America when I'm finished watching 'Karate Kid' and 'Kung Fu Panda 2' on the tiny screens embedded in the headrests.

May 24th

My time here has come full-circle. Hot, long days remind me of when I first arrived in Bilecik having no idea where this journey would lead me. Turns out, it lead me a few directions, from Istanbul to Adana, from Ayvalik to Antalya. It also allowed me to confront, in a deep and personal way, the particulars of my life that have caused frusteration. An opportunity to step aside, to live on my own for a year, cultivated a sense of self that won't be broken. Moreover, I've deeply valued my chance to connect with Turks - to put a face to the unfamiliar and the often misunderstood. I'm an American, yes, but more than that, I'm a teacher and a friend.

I know its been overstated, but my heart is overflowing with gratitude. I'm leaving Turkey in a few days, but Turkey will always be a whisper in the back of my head, compelling me to return. And return I will, not only the beautiful city of Istanbul, or to the sites and visions that spawned great civilizations, but to my hometown of Bilecik, pop. 48,000. Humble mosques in tiny villages, snow capped mountains, rolling fields and olive groves, the generosity of local vendors, and the blue of the sea have dug themselves into my conscience, where they will remain for the rest of my days. Turkey has both effortlessly and relentlessly taken hold of me.

But I'm not going back to a hapless existence in all-to-familiar America. I'm moving on with my life in DC for the next two years. I'll continue to study Turkish, and to study Turkey's layered and complex political culture. It's important that, beyond my face-to-face diplomatic presence in Bilecik, I contribute to peace and understanding between America and Turkey in other capacities too. My tenure as a Fulbrighter far from over. I am now able to offer up a rich portrait of a country so misunderstood by Americans. It's more than kebab and baklava, chief.

Last weekend, I took a trip with a few friends to the coastal town of Ayvalik. There I was, an American, sitting on a Turkish beach, a French family to my left, reading the Indian Rushdie's book on Nicaragua, The Jaguar Smile, listening to Rihanna blaring through nearby speakers, and sipping something from yet another country. The year has brought the world together for me, not only in the superficial way globalization has transformed sleepy Ayvalik beach into the UN, but mainly in the way intellectual connections minimize differences between people of (not so) different cultures and societies.

I'll go back to my flat now, and mill about in the living room for a bit before falling asleep. I'll cherish every moment of it too.

Restored Ottoman houses in Eskisehir

May 13th

I write to you on the official beginning of my summer vacation. I celebrated in the most honest way I could, sleeping in late, going for a run, listening to NPR, eventually getting breakfast (it was 2:00 by then), and relaxing at a favorite cafe surfing the web and reading as the sky outside changed from grey to dark grey. It is raining now, which isn't unusual in Bilecik. But because I've already touched upon the weather in previous posts, I need not go there. the weather is, however, one of the few things I can comment on in Turkish, so it's something I'm especially keen towards. You never know when that everyday conversation about weather can turn into a Turkish vocabulary lesson.

I plan on visiting Istanbul as early as tomorrow to relish in the urban magic for what may be one of my final chances to do so. The pages are running out on the Bilecik experience. Istanbul, however, is the most beautiful city in the world and the subject of countless chapters of books, and artist's images and compositions. It is the heart and soul of Turkey's past, present, and future, swiftly flying forward while keeping it's eyes fastened on the richness of its very own history.

I friend of mine, on a Watson Fellowship, has just settled down in Istanbul, on the next leg of her journey through 7 (?) countries. She's an artist, truly and completely, and I'm grateful for her exposure to such a lavish Well of inspiration.

Perhaps it's my own fault that I haven't tapped into the artistic consciousness of Turkey. I've grappled more so with the layers of identity, and the political push and pull of the government. In fact, my only exposure to Turkey's art movement were the articles and images I digested of the Monument to Humanity, representing friendship between the Turks and the Armenians in the eastern city on Kars. It's deconstruction so moved me that I acquired a sour taste concerning the governments lack of openness and compassion. It was an uncomfortable narrative to follow, especially in awareness of the strong undercurrent of guilt and shame bubbling up within the soul of a country manipulating history to fit what it wishes to have happened.

I watched a YouTube video last evening of Dr. King describing the difference between non-resistance and non-violent resistance. The provocative nature of non-violent resistance was intended to place great shame on the white population at the time. It effectively ripped the white conscience from its contentment, compelling it to stare strait into the eye of injustice; to confront its vile guilt. It reminded me of the monument, the necessity of art as a means by which to evolve not only on the basis of a singular event, but in terms of overall thought. Art does what academics fail to do in revealing not only the intellectual, but the wholly human side of things. The academic, the journalist, can report on the deaths of a thousand. The artist, however, can make you feel it. I regret the monuments destruction. I applaud its capacity to have done forced one step closer, an accurate view of the past and a hopeful image of tomorrow.

I remember reading Reza Abdoh for the first time in an Contemporary Drama class at Wheaton. I felt literally ill, nauseous reading his play. The gruesome imagery, over-the-top violence, perverse sexuality, and the grandiosity of it all prepared me to march into class the next day and vilify Abdoh's identity as an artist. All I really needed to alter my view of the drama, however, was a brief backstory of the artist. Iranian-born, gay, dead of AIDS at 32. His work was a giant F*CK YOU, compliments of the powerless and the voiceless. The visceral response emerged from reading his work was a projection of his very own reality - an image of the world I wasn't prepared to confront. I dismissed the genius of Abdoh because I couldn't, at the time, face the music. What does it mean for one's village to be bombed, to be imprisoned and under siege? Turkey, I feel, is dealing with the same thing, albeit with a frightening degree of intolerance. We can hope and pray for art to emerge as a powerful medium of intellectual and spiritual enlightenment amidst societies everywhere.

Oh yea... Antalya

I almost failed to mention Antalya - a coastal oasis of pure splendor whereupon a sizable group of Fulbrighters descended to a final group goodbye. Because I arrived late at night on a flight from Ankara, it wasn't until morning that I was able to catch a good view of the crisp greenish-blue ocean water, the jagged, looming mountains resigned to the background, and the vast shining sky. I half expected to walk strait into a green-screen by virtue of the too-perfect view, but the sea, the mountains, all of it, was real.

The Fulbright conglomerate stayed in an "all-inclusive" resort - a shameless push-back against the "native lifestyles" we've been leading for the last nine months. About 35 of us hung about the outdoor pool by day, even taking brief excursions to the ocean located across the street. At night, I was lucky enough to escape, with a good friend of mine, to a local cafe to reflect on our experiences and to avoid the brazen assemblage of middle-class Eastern Europeans that occupy such places.

It was a nice to realize just how similar our experiences had been, in terms of our own growth and how our attitudes and sensibilities have changed over time. The focus on a theme of connections and similarities between peoples and cultures has so far evolved my thinking in my capacity to see things for what they truly are. The sense of liberation stirred out of an absence of overpowering allegiances has allowed for a seemingly more objective approach to the world. This catalyst in my intellectual trajectory has felt nourishing and deeply personal, and I hope to maintain that sense in the presence of overwhelming and conflicting intellectual enterprise.

I got sunburned, but not too badly. Hours of fun on the water-slide (yea, you read that correctly), regardless of the layer upon layer of SPF, will get you if you're skin is near translucent-white, as mine was. It was one hell of a weekend, and I'm especially thankful to the colleagues who bit the bullet and organized the whole shabang. Kudos where they're due.

May 10th

It's the final week of classes. I'm reviewing grammar tenses with the students and saying 'good-bye' to a wonderful group of students. I look back with a sense of gratitude and nostalgia - a slight pulling of the heart strings that came over me last night as I walked home from my final Monday class with a colleague and a friend of mine. In many ways, I've learned as much from the students as they've learned from my lessons and perhaps more. More than anything else, I hope my students have seen me as a person devoted to their well-being. Some of my students, I've heard through the grapevine, believe I've pushed them further than perhaps other English teachers. I wouldn't have it any other way. If anything, it's an indication that I want them to succeed. And while I'm not certain how much I've helped in terms of improving their ability to comprehend the English language, I am glad that I was able to project my passion and enthusiasm.

I'm ending each class with a 'thank you' and a promise: that I will go back home and tell friends and family about them. It's especially important, now, that we take steps to humanize those with whom we have yet to interact with. I hope I can project helpful information and reveal a very "human side" to the geographical and cultural boundaries separating Turkey and the US.

I'll spend the next few weeks flipping through my mental rolodex, dwelling on the significance of this year in terms of the difference I hope I've made (and have yet to make), and my own personal emotional, spiritual, and intellectual growth. I understand the frustrations I may have returning to the States, and there's no better time to prepare for that. This year has been transformative in a way I could have never expected. No longer do I feel occupied by allegiances I've maintained for years now. My existence is more free than that. My home is wherever I am, and wherever I find comfort and solace. It is the human experience above all else that encapsulates, warms, and protects me.

May 4th

I've had a bit more time to reflect on the death of bin Laden and subsequent reactions from all over the country. A wave of positive reinforcement, and the continuous and tedious search and desire for bloody details promulgated by the media after bin Laden's death has left me feeling a bit empty, a bit upset, and quite ashamed. Many, it seems, have ignited in fervent, almost primal praise of the deed. Many have engaged in enthusiastic bellicosity and in-your-face nationalism. But I fear, that to many Muslim-Americans, and Muslims worldwide, the war cries of so many translate into something beyond the positive and rather benign recognition of the fall of an murderous individual. As a friend noted in a recent post to Facebook, chants of "F*** yea America!" sound much like chants of "F*** you Muslims!," especially given how powerful the ongoing wave of anti-Muslim sentiment has grown.

It is unequivocally true that US news outlets, and what seems like the greater part of the Republican Party, have engendered fierce animosity and hatred towards Muslims. Pundits and talking head warn of shari'a law as if they have any idea what it even means. Their ignorance is as dangerous as any terrorist, however, in it's capacity to be heard and believed by millions of people, and especially those people whose only understanding of Islam stems from a broader social text littered with coverage of the World Trade Center, burning and falling to the ground. A new anti-semitism has emerged too easily from the ashes of ground zero, and it's against this backdrop that the raucous nationalism projects itself as something more than a celebration of the fall of bin Laden. Images of Americans clamoring over one another, waving flags in ecstatic fashion, and bellowing "God Bless America," to me eerily mirror images fed to us of ecstatic Muslims in the Middle East, burning flags, and bellowing their own propaganda.

As such, any neo-Conservative, any American seeking to proudly assert the myth of "American exceptionalism," would be opposed to such a raucous celebration of bin Laden's death. Aren't we, as Americans, supposed to assume the moral high-ground? Aren't we, as Americans, above the tendency of our foes, to lose ourselves in moments of rage, violence, and revenge?

I am not suggesting that bin Laden's death wasn't to be received with a sense of relief and a restored sense of patriotism. Rather, I noticed the trappings of a vengeful country swept up in the moment. From my perspective, my my vantage point in Bilecik, Turkey, the celebration adopted an element of militancy and "us vs. them" fanaticism. It is natural to hope for, and to feel a sense of ease when justice is actualized. I honestly felt that way when the news flashed upon my computer screen. I felt relieved for those effected by bin Laden's insanity. I felt a sense of goodness, but in no way did I seek to assert a supremacy or invested pride in our countries ability to "get back" at the enemy. I sought not to understand the perverted details of his death. I've avoided the abundance of news stories attempting to find answers to questions that frankly shouldn't be raised. Exploring the details of bin Laden's gruesome demise turns his assassination into theatre - into a performance glorifying the very ideology he promoted - the ideology of violence, of destruction, and not of Islam. In this way, I imagine him smiling at us from afar - aware of his perverted influence and hoping our hatred towards one another will grow.

I pray, then, that the desperate voices in service of peace drown out the vengeful eruption of support for American militancy. Fighting hatred with hatred is nonsense, as so many of history's great leaders have proclaimed. I am glad that bin Laden is gone, but I refuse to bask in the projected glory of an act of violence, no matter how justified.

May 2nd

I delivered a most confusing, vexing, lesson tonight, leaving my students stunned, dazed, and looking for answers in a dark vortex of foreign language nonsense. It didn’t help that my poor students had just completed a mammoth exam – relentlessly long and complex – that left them with their mouths only slightly more ajar than their heavy eyelids. I hadn’t realized how confusing the Past Perfect could be until it was mine to present, and in a PowerPoint presentation with 50% fewer pictures of cats doing funny things no less. Of the strategies and routines I’ve developed in the process of becoming a better teacher, I’ve realized how essential it is to play to your audience. Cat-loving students, therefore, get cat visuals to help them remember comparatives and superlatives, the past continuous tense, and nightly routines. So long as the students are at least slightly entertained, they’ll absorb more information than otherwise. I also quiz weekly, which keeps them less happy but more studious. Cats and quizzes, when employed together, can work wonders on even the most unmotivated student.

Life outside of class has been plentiful, meaning my teaching hours have become increasingly scarce as the end of the year approaches. Pomp and circumstance, and the extra exams, have supplanted regular class time. Finding things to do hasn’t been too much of a challenge though. I’ve been running more often, especially now that Spring has unfurled and Bilecik is forever warm. I read a great deal at the Simit Sarayi establishment, new to Bilecik, with its outdoor seating arrangement and its delicious chai. I thank God for these warm afternoons, basking in an experience I understand to be as significant a part of my life as any. My presence has already, I know, dispelled certain ideas about Americans. I particularly find this true in light of my developed relationships to those living and working in town – the store and restaurant owners, the police wandering the streets, and the factory workers. People still stare at me. But it’s this tension, leaning up against the unknown, which compels the mind to reevaluate and to reconsider what’s been assumed.

My job in Turkey, beyond the teaching and the cultural lessons, is to exist as an American in Bilecik. What that means is different for different people, but so long as people can lay eyes on me, and understand that I laugh and think and smile and offer whatever humanity I can muster in a day, I am surprisingly similar in the most basic ways. I am part of this human family that, too often, and so easily, is torn and divided across senseless lines and my job is to uncloak this.

I bring this up in the wake of bin Laden’s death, and my own uncomfortable feelings rejoicing the death of an individual. I think back on the gravity of bin Laden’s career – the mass murder, the bastardization of a beautiful and complete religion, the exploitation and brainwashing of thousands – and I cannot help but find within myself a sense of ease. But immediately that sense of ease is disturbed not by the individual act of killing off a mass murderer, but the scope and ferocity of war and pain in our fragile world that bin Laden so represented. It is exactly what has allowed me to cherish his execution, and what has subverted my most passionate feelings of peace and love. It’s troubling and dark, and I’m most justified and bothered by my feelings.

Tavla

It's known as backgammon in the States, and only as a relatively obscure game taking a backseat to more famous titles like 'Sorry,' or 'Parcheesi.' But in Turkey, or at least Bilecik, 'Tavla,' as it's known, is a powerful social medium. The cafe at least provides a forum for talented tavla players to flex their fingers and a game - I've discovered - is part luck and a big part skill. I'm still a fledgling in the tavla arena, and to my surprise, I haven't improved a lick. I'm still unaccustomed to the various strategies employed by some of my students. Students, in fact, who have exceptionally difficult times speaking English can find a way to communicate vindictively and quite effectively with a good 'ole tavla routing leaving me blistered and wincing at the thought of another round.

I've been so effectively beaten that tavla is being put on the back shelf for the time being. That is, until I'm asked to inadvertently provide entertainment and a boost of the ego to the most timid and unassuming of my students, sitting in the dim light of my favorite cafe.

See you all soon!

Kariye Kilisesi. Istanbul, Turkiye

April 25th

I don't want to let go of this experience - of the exposure to new thoughts and perspectives, and of the trail of self-exploration I've been hacking my way through. It's seemed so rich - so full - in part because it's marked the entry of my post-undergrad life. Turkey, to me, is more than just an unique experience teaching abroad. It is also my first apartment, my first salary, my first days entirely independent and free of personalities I've grown accustomed to. Though I've been on the other side of the classroom, teaching English and US culture to hundreds of Turkish students, I've felt myself more a student of life than ever before. Anxiety-ridden dreams, now, are about returning to the States and not having the independence I've savored - the time to myself to ponder, drink chai, read, and live in the present. I long to continue to notice the trees, to appreciate a beautiful landscape, to be able to lose myself in moments of fullness and gratitude.

Turkey has expanded my mind more than I ever could have imagined. Through my time spent with students, colleagues, and townspeople, I've acquired an understanding of others' perspectives more than I thought I would. I see in Turkey the trappings of youth and insecurity that characterize America too. Waves of bigotry, hatred, misunderstanding in the name of nationalism hold many people captive, and with great capacity, overtake people's ability to view peace with openness or even favorability. A more disturbing product of this blinding influence has played itself out in the Turkish town of Kars, as a giant sculpture known as the Monument to Humanity was arranged to be torn down. Demolition of the monument meant to promote Turkish-Armenian friendship began yesterday - the annual day devoted to remembrance of the Armenian Genocide. The act is heartbreaking not only in its actualization, given what the monument stands for, but in the notion that the work of the artist is meaningless. The decision to tear the monument down tears at the heartstrings of those who understand that artists provide value beyond intellectual enterprise. The magnitude of the monument, an 18-stories tall on the top of a hill, represents a devastating contradiction to the lies sold to Turkish society by a nationalist school curriculum. Its size is meant to be offensive to the prevailing social notion, as citizens are forced to grapple with the uncomfortable, perhaps disturbingly ironic meaning of a Turkish-Armenian friendship statue. Artists speak directly to, and evolve the consciousness, of a society. Art of this nature dispelled and trod upon is cancerous and heart breaking to witness.

I've had the privilege to mull over such topics. While I've picked up few, if any, academic articles, my intellectual curiosity has been quenched in other ways. More importantly, I've stirred and cultivated a sense of the world beyond the walls of intelligence, it seems. I can't say I've experienced a "spiritual rebirth." That would be weird. If anything, I believe Turkey has influenced my priorities. I don't imagine growing apart from what I've learned here. If anything, my journey this year has been a substantial stepping-stone towards where I plan to be in the future - at peace with myself and my commitment to understanding the world, especially that which is not mine.

April 21st

I've found a renewed interest walking around town, past the feline pilgrimage sites, the old, dilapidated buildings, the stands of fresh produce, and the now-familiar streets. My renewed interest is a product of a keen awareness that this experience will forever remain in my memory banks. I want to realize it, to live it to its fullest in the moment. I want to suck the sap dry of my time time here, and although I know it's impossible, the goal is a good one. For the pat week or so, however, the weather has been an dark mix of greys, blues, and off-whites relentlessly pushing out the sun and leaving Bilecik in a cold, damp, stoic state. Weather has a way of beating you down - and then keeping you there. But alas, today the sun poked through the ceiling of vast grey and hung around for awhile. In fact, I think it's supposed to stay nice for a few days.

This is a good thing because I've finally got a few more visitors making the journey to Bilecik. Fulbrighters, this time from Nevsehir, are staying and we plan to visit nearby points of interest - namely Eskisehir and Bursa. In Eskisehir, on one of way lazy weekends staying in the region, I finally found a neighborhood a had heard of for quite awhile. Beyond the main drive, where the cafe's, the malls, and the canal lie, there is a neighborhood of renovated Ottoman houses, painted in beautiful colors, lining cobblestone streets. I was pleased to find it, and more pleased to have had the opportunity to walk around, snap some photos, and locate a small little restaurant with delicious Turkish cuisine (what else would it have, right?). The owners were particularly friendly and spoke to me in Turkish. I nodded my head, desperately hoping it was an appropriate response to whatever it was they spoke of.

Only a few more weeks left of class. I'm deliberating as to what I'll do after. Something fun, something adventurous, something bold. I'll keep you posted.

Much love.

April 12th

Every moment is a gem. I'm trying to keep that in perspective as my experience wanes and a new beginning in the States inches closer. This semester, in particular, has been light. My days haven't been molded by routine as they were last semester, especially as the weather blooms and the students become more relaxed. One week of mid-terms actually turned into two to three weeks of classes sans students, for example.

At this point, I'm not complaining. I'm enjoying an easier atmosphere, quite different from what I've been accustomed to. This feeling could also be the result of alternate teaching hours. I have busy days juxtaposed with simple days, and I have only one three-hour class this semester as opposed to the three I had last semester. Class prep time has therefore diminished. As the weather turns, I've also found more impetus and ability to run, and it's become somewhat of a ritual.

I wake up, throw on shorts, wind-pants, and a t-shirt, and make my way across town, to where there's a soccer stadium towards the top of a steep hill, in the center of a pleasant middle-class neighborhood. The stadium has a track enclosing the soccer field, and that's where I run. The circular path ain't much fun. I see the same scenery every two minutes, but it's a peaceful area frequented by few. I end the workout with pull-ups and chin-ups on a nearby stationary structure, moreso to spend a few extra moments in the sun than anything else, before trudging back home passed the simit vendor with the winter cap and the hoarse voice.

I do this often, and my legs are tired of it. Today I took a day off, and not because my legs were sore, but because it was cold. The weather here remains a mystery. It teases and taunts with warmth and sun before raining down cold and dark. Last Saturday, for example, I was pelted with hail.

This prolonged hiatus from busyness, caffeine-addiction, and late night paper-writing has done me good. I feel rested, revived, and I'll hopefully carry this on for awhile in the States. I wonder what it is about US culture that turns us into zombies? We're busy, yea, but we're also obsessed with being busy. It's totally an image thing. Being miserable validates us. We never take time to ponder the peculiarities of every-day life. I like to ponder the way cigarette smoke seductively and carelessly dances about, tumbling into itself. I spent a few minutes today wondering why my mouth felt chalky after eating spinach. I hope this childlike fascination with things, which has re-emerged in Turkey, doesn't leave anytime soon.

I'll write again soon, maybe.

Between Bilecik and Bursa

While a number of Fulbrighters met up in Antalya - a beautiful resort area in the south - I decided to hang back and hold onto the final glimpses of Bilecik and its surrounding area. I'm not sure how much opportunity I'll have to day-trip to Eskisehir, and to Bursa, where I ventured today. One thing I'll miss upon return is the scenic, winding drive between Bilecik and Bursa. The verdant, bucolic landscape reminds me of images of Ireland, and as you near Bursa, snow-capped peaks emerge to dominate the landscape, severing thoughts of Ireland but remaining undoubtedly beautiful and majestic in its own way. I love the ride, particularly because it provides endless spectacle, and I seem to notice new sights every time the bus tears dangerously around the winding, cliff-hanging roads.

Antalya can wait. It can wait four weeks. I'll be there then for an end-of-the-year celebration, soaking in the sun on a beautiful beach somewhere and doing my best not to devastate my skin. Sunscreen, please. Between then and now, I've got plans. Istanbul, another Bursa trip with a good friend, and perhaps an Ankara trip are in the planning stages. While I know I'll miss Bilecik tenderly, I simply can't be here alone for an extended period of time or else I find myself counting dust particles a the nose of dozing dog, or something. It's a cruel paradox.

As many of you may have imagined, the 'Koran Burning' episode made its way to Turkish media sources. For those of you not quite up to speed on the while situation, "pastor" Terry Jones of Florida decided to go through with his planned Koran burning. The event was immediately denounced by President Hamid Karzai of Afghanistan, enflaming the rage of Afghani townspeople. Several mullahs incited action and when all was said and done, at least 12 UN employees had been murdered.

The rage, the insensitivity, the blindness, the antithetical manifestation of core religious values is depraved, though deserves to be examined. Everyone in this situation is to blame, obviously. From Mr. Jones's rash decision to burn a holy text, to Karzai's zealous denouncement, to the murderous mullahs provocation, to the murders themselves, jeopardizing the already fragile web of humanity in Afghanistan. Admit that after a campaign to rid the country of the Taliban and of al-Qaeda, which tragically resulted in the deaths of thousands of innocents, a residue of senseless violence settles and festers. To see a country torn to pieces destroys, beyond measure, a comprehension of humanity, of goodness, of love. So does an event such as the one we're addressing surprise anyone? It shouldn't, for that would mean we're underestimating the obliterative nature of war. We're failing to understand the grotesque reality out of convenience. If we knew - if we had any modicum of awareness - of what it means to live in a village pummeled by bombs and riddled with gunfire, we may wrap our head around how little it must have taken to spark fury in the hearts of regular townspeople. What happened shouldn't surprise us.

Alas, it frightens me to hear of the sweeping trend of Islamophobia in the US and I hope my year in Turkey will spark some conversations that prevent any lack of tolerance towards Muslims, and more broadly, Islam. I read a powerful article by a friend of mine last night, and it reminded me just how blind and misinformed many people have become, and deliberately so it seems, out of a sense of fear. Jihad is not holy war, he reminds us. Moreover, there is no such thing as a "holy war." In fact, war cannot be labeled "holy" under any circumstance, even when religiously justified. In other words, stop listening to the pundits, or the extremists (including Mr. Jones and Mr. Glenn Beck and, yes, Mr. bin Laden).

The mind is always looking for ways to neatly categorize, and the political rhetoric surrounding Islam in essence defines it for a broad demographic of Americans. It will contribute to an even stronger wave of anti-Islamic sentiment. People listen to politicians, and its hugely irresponsible for them to address topics they know nothing about. An ignorant comment, in such a context, isn't harmless. It's as dangerous as the gun, or the bomb it provokes. That goes for both sides, as the news this week demonstrates.

Stay peaceful.

It Takes More Than One to Make a Thing Go Right

Thank God for my Fulbright family. The truth of my friendship with many of them has been unraveling in a revealing way. At times, I don't know how I'd be doing without them, especially the few I've grown particularly close with. We all realize we're in this together, and our situations, despite differences in geographical placement, teaching hours, responsibilities, schedules, all overlap in broad similarities.

As was openly acknowledged at the mid-year Fulbright meeting in Ankara a few weeks back, this particular group has undergone particular strains not common to a typical "Fulbright experience." We were, as unfortunate as it sounds, the "guinea pigs" of an expanded program that chose to place grantees in remote towns and villages rather than cosmopolitan urban centers. Many of our deemed hosts had little idea we were even coming, as the communication jumble between Fulbright, YOK (Turkey's sorry excuse for a Education Commission), and the individual Universities became, well, jumbled. I think we all felt a little better at the end of our mid-year meeting, having had the opportunity to breathe fire into the faces of bureaucrats wearing naive smiles and oversized suits. I may sound bitter, but I'm not. Conversely, I'm grateful for such a unique experience. I've grown, absolutely, as a person in my ability to confront and navigate tough situations. Also, I've taken advantage of my solitude, confronting and exploring who I am and who I hope to be. I remain acutely aware of how I'm feeling most of the time.

Which brings me back to my Fulbright amigos. While solitude is nice, and while it can teach you things about yourself you never imagined, it walks sometimes dangerously close to loneliness. My frequent conversations and weekend trips to the homes of welcoming faces confronting the same experiences I am is refreshing and appreciated. While we hail from diverse backgrounds, we all have enough in common to laugh about.

In a few weeks, I'll be with most of them in a beautiful place on the southern coast of Turkey: Antalya. Look it up - the pictures are nice. At this point, despite a fairly lax schedule, I could use some beach time.

My students are improving. Quiz scores are up. Keep in touch. Miss you (yea, you).

The view from my street.

A Stranger in Bilecik

I returned from Izmir today, and traversed tiredly to my favorite restaurant after dropping off my bags in the flat. Not long into meal, a foreigner stumbled in, found a seat, and began to graze. To my great surprise, he was a native English speaker from Australia. I learned this overhearing the Turkish waiter ask where he was from in broken, fragmented English. "Vare.. eh hey hey .. vare are you frohm?," he had asked. "Australia," the Australian replied.

I finished my dish, payed, and walked over to introduce myself. It's truly a novelty finding a native English speaker in Bilecik. I was shocked, and only then realized how fantastically bizarre it is for anyone in Bilecik to encounter me. I respect the townspeoples caution now, and realize the looks, perpetual wide-eyed stares, prolonged gazes in my direction are simply a natural reaction. After all, my reaction was quite similar. As I approached, I considered giving the gentleman a swift poke, just to see what would happen. "What will English-speaker man do?," I thought to myself. I refrained from doing so and instead struck up a little conversation about what had brought him to the area. Turns out, he's a business man looking to buy marble and stone. Bilecik is just the place for this. My route to school every day is littered with massive industrial factories producing granite, marble, porcelain, and aluminum. For his sake, I hope it's cheap but of high quality.

The gentleman also told me he'd been here 20 years ago on a backpacking trip. I was astonished and he laughed at my expression. He was reminded, he said, of just how "developing" Turkey is upon visiting Bilecik. Beyond the limits of cosmopolitan super-cities like Istanbul, Izmir, and Bursa, smaller towns still reflect a lifestyle without many of the modern amenities we in the US (and Australia) are so accustomed to. I told him I can't wait to come back after 20 years.

As weird as it was to run across a native English speaker, I was very happy to have met him. We talked a bit about yoga and solitude and Turkey. I admired his openness and his charm. He possessed a certain sense of self he claimed to have acquired through yoga. I'm acquiring that same sense in different ways, and I'm so grateful for that.

Nevsehir and What I Saw There

There are places in the world that look like God is trying to play a trick on us. Nevsehir, or rather Cappadocia, is such a place. A quick glance leaves you feeling as though you've entered a less mountainous New Mexico, though you'll soon notice a vast landscape of phallic-shaped dry rocks and ancient rock-dwellings in the distance. Cappadocia, to me, didn't feel real. It's a the home of the first great Christian civilization, which carved their dwellings into underground spaces, rock structures, and naturally-formed caverns to protect themselves against encroaching armies.

Our lively group of five found a great deal on ATV rentals, and tore through the "fairy chimney's" as they're referred to, for a good two and a half hours. Because Turkey isn't obsessed with safety regulations and precautionary measures, and because they know what "fun" means, we had ourselves a hell of a time on those ATV's. It was a beautiful day, and the views of the mountains and the caverns and the rock formations were seen from what could have been miles away. In this picturesque environment, where humankind and nature come together in harmony, our small group revved our engines loud and shattered any modicum of peacefulness in this otherwise serene and happy place. Our engines, with a noise of a thousand angry bulls, shook the earth, and the birds, normally at ease, fled in great despair. We had a blast.

Cappadocia is also known for its wine. I must admit, it wasn't bad contrary to what I'd imagined. The wine I've tasted thus far from Anatolian vineyards has been hard to swallow, literally. But our wine-tasting at a nearby orchard was rather nice. A subtle blend of oak and clove, with flowery overtones and nutty undertones... A cacophony of spices, herbs, branches of trees, and fruits is how I'd characterize every wine I've ever tasted. But trust me when I say the stuff from Cappadocia is good.

I'm running into moments, usually when I'm by myself (which is pretty much all the time), when I realize just how much I'm going to miss this place. I haven't experienced a place, other than my parents' places in Greenfield and Turners Falls, that feels like home the way Bilecik does. I've grown so adjusted and satisfied with my surroundings. It's a fortress in some ways, that remains so far from all else. It means the comfort of relative anonymity and the ability to do what I want, when I want. I've fallen in love with this place, and waves of appreciation sweep over me abruptly and without warning. I lay in bed last night looking out the window and doing my best to soak it all in - the musty scent of my room, the double-layered sheer curtains, the prayer rug that protects my bedside table.

The Birthday that Almost Wasn't

I checked my e-mail as soon as I woke up this morning. It took me a good minute or two to realize that the insane amount of wall-postings weren’t due to a Facebook virus, but rather, it was my birthday! I’d almost forgotten. Had I known sooner, I may have rescheduled a planned trip to Cappadocia and treated myself with another day-trip to Eskisehir.

So here I am, on a speed-train between Eskisehir and Ankara, on my way to Cappadocia, busy being twenty-three. I’m a quarter of my way through life, which is an awful thing to think about either because I’ve only got three-quarters of a lifetime to go, or because I’ve got three-quarters of a lifetime to go. I plan to make the most of it – to attack my dreams with all I’ve got. Onwards and upwards.

I knew my birthday fell somewhere around this time. There was a lingering sense of it in the back of my mind, but because the days tend to bleed together in Bilecik, I wasn’t so much fully aware of it. I have received some wonderful messages from friends, students, and colleagues. Messages like, ‘It is so good that you are borning’ really warm the heart and inspire me to start quizzing my students more frequently. Experimentation with language comes only after one has mastered the Simple Past tense.

Alas, my birthday will be spent in transit as I make my way to Cappadocia to snap photos of the aforementioned pointy, stone caves (see previous post). My most recent book purchase should keep me company. I bought Orwell’s ‘1984’ the other day at the D&R bookstore in Eskisehir. It’s got me a little on edge. ‘Big Brother’ is definitely watching me. Though in all seriousness, the novel is striking in its portrayal of a reality bearing resemblance, albeit loosely, to the US in the post-9/11 era. All I could think of was the ‘Patriot Act’ – it’s provisions and its name, attempting to shroud its distinctly anti-American manifestations in ironic prose.

Some colleagues of mine live round them parts – that is, Nevsehir – and I look forward to staying with them for the next few days. I’ll take advantage of these final two months, traveling as often as possible.

(Written Thursday, March 24^th, 2011)

Still Here!

Some news I received from home a little while ago kept me spontaneously looking for ways to distract myself. Happily, my best friend from home along with his soon-to-be wife arrived soon after for a wonderful visit that allowed me the opportunity to not only speak English for prolonged periods of time, but to also enjoy the positive rays of friendship for which I am thankful. They, bravely, ventured to Bilecik to get a sense of my everyday life. They were treated to a brief tour that covered nearly the entire town, some delicious foods, and a barrage of bewildered stares, gazes, double-takes, and full-on eye screws. We may have been inadvertently making history. I cannot imagine a time when three Americans traversed through Bilecik - Turkey's version of everyone's hometown with football. It may never happen again, though we were certainly noted and perhaps our feats and exploits will be discovered thousands of years from now in some Bilecik excavation project.

The Bilecik visit was short but plenty long enough to show them just about everything. We then set off for Istanbul where I was able to show them some of what they hadn't seen the few days prior to arriving in Bilecik. We explored the famed Taksim Square and buzzing Istiklal, took pictures of cats, discovered and mastered the favored game of salty old Istanbulite men (that is, tabla), took more pictures of cats, and ventured to a hamam (after much coercion). I noticed my friend's masseuse was especially rough and unforgiving, for which I was thankful. It was good to have them around, and I'll cherish the experiences we shared.

Because the students are currently taking mid-term exams, and because I don't administer them, I'm able to travel this weekend to famed Cappadocia, where the wine flows and where drunks try not to impale themselves on those weird pointy stone structures the region is so famous for. Jesus is there, I hear. Maybe that's the wine talking.

Not much more to write today. I'm quite tired and my mind's elsewhere. More to come soon.

Peace and Love.

Politics n' stuff

Thousands have recently taken to the streets of Istanbul in protest of the imprisonment of journalists - an issue that has only recently berthed actual large-scale protests for greater freedom of the press. Even websites, including youtube and blogspot (which I'm currently using), have been shut down in seemingly arbitrary fashion. So while I wrote a thesis on the AKP's contribution to democratization in Turkey, I'm second-guessing much of the credit I offered them. It seems though that the burgeoning tide of freedom-demanding protests and revolutions sweeping the globe are the trappings of a global movement. This is democracy in action, peeling back a the hypocritical rhetoric that kept despots and authoritarian leadership the recipients of Western aid and support. It's a beautiful movement, and the answer to millions of people's prayers. Turkey has moved in a positive direction for the most part, but I feel as though its wavering on a precipice. Strongly-worded calls for freedom and liberty ring hollow against the backdrop of a regime that consistently defies it's purported values. The AKP, now, seems to have no entity able to hold them accountable. Where are the opposition parties in all of this? I would check the newspapers, but it's not reported.

I feel like somewhat of a revolutionary, then, delicately alluding to pressing issues facing Turkish society. The "word association" game did just that, because while I asked them to share adjectives describing America, I also asked them to describe Turkey from what they believed to be an American's perspective. Words like "genocide" and "Kurds" and "restrictions on the press" emerged, and I was relieved in a way. Nationalism supplants history with "preferred history" and veils reality in distorted, unfair ways. Narratives are strung together based on wishes and desires of what ought to be and not what was, easing any sense of dissonance or uneasiness associated with dark chapters of history. It's of course the same in the United States. How often do school children confront accounts of genocide against the Native Americans? How is it that we still celebrate Columbus Day? Perhaps it's that my perspective as an outsider that illuminates the lies and myths of Turkish history in a more glaring light. 1.5 million Armenians were killed between 1915 and 1917. They were dispelled as part of the establishment of a new country, and to this day, I've heard them referred to as "liars" - as criminals and punishers and savages and oppressors. It stings but I feel that, in time, Turkey will come to grips with the bad as well as the good, not as a means by which to somehow take back what's been done, but to acknowledge the crime for what it was and move forward from there.

Every week I've been tying in ways to draw similarities between US and Turkish culture and society. I do this sometimes through humor, and always through PowerPoint. Time to march back to my flat, crank the heat, and watch a episode of MadMen. Let the good times roll.

Blankets on Blankets

Bilecik is white with snow. It's beautiful, for sure, but so damn cold. Wasn't it last week I was running laps around the track in 60 degree weather? Maybe not. I don't know up from down at this point. All I do know is that its a bitch climbing the icy ski trail up to my flat. My Bean Boots help the minimal amount. Yes, I am mobile. But this is the first time anyone has worn Bean Boots in Turkey as evidenced by the unapologetic stares of Bilecik University students and the good local folk. Are they really that unusual? Not for a New England born-and-raised lass like myself. Winter comes around, and I'm surprised when I see people sporting anything else.

Today I ventured into the center of town for a few commodities. I said "ne haber" to my newest acquaintance, the Chinese flea market store owner. He's consistently and graciously helped me find tape, mirrors, towels, adapters, and other everyday needs he just happens to sell. My big purchase this afternoon was a blanket. The small stove in my flat doesn't quite heat the house sufficiently, so I figured that buffing up on blankets would be a nice gesture for my friends visiting next week. I entered the store knowing that, with great toil, I could walk out of there with a fine blanket for under 30 TL. I fashioned my eye on a Spider-Man themed down blanket displayed outside, grabbed it by the flimsy, plastic, bag handle, and marched inside. My perhaps overzealous "Merhaba" scared away two veiled old ladies who quickly shuffled away into the darkest corner of the blanket store and I was left with a beautiful young lady who met me with a warm, charming smile. Because I've neglected to study or pick-up any Turkish blanket lingo (I don't know how to say 'blanket,' for example), I sort of just made some wild hand-motions accompanied with a few awkward dance steps. I even tapped out a little beat on a nearby carpet stand to indicate I was finished with the presentation. She had no clue what I was doing but I walked out of that store with a beautiful pink and purple down blanket, sophisticatedly designed with pixelated hearts and stars. The Spider-Man themed blanket would have been awesome. Alas, it was too expensive, but I'm happy with what I got.

My best friend and his soon-to-be wife are arriving in Bilecik to pay me a visit. I respect and admire their devotion and their bravery. They're truly stepping outside the boundaries of any recently published tourist literature. I am excited - so excited - to give them a sense of how I've been living for the last seven months. They may laugh, they may cry. Either way, it'll be memorable.

The snow has kept me inside, and mildly edgy. But lately, I've been looking inward, wrestling with the conduct of life and (hopefully) evolving. It's a journey that I'm grateful for, especially as the academic year spent in Turkey has closed a chapter on a year of heartbreak and emptiness. There were certain regrets I've taken the time to confront and to learn from. I let some things go, and I've examined the depth of things I've perhaps left on the shelf for too long a time. It's acknowledging a disconnectedness - a disparity between reality and what's stirred up in my sometimes restless mind. It feels necessary to acknowledge that.

As promised, I'll get back to the small study I've been conducting. The "word association" game has really opened my eyes to Turkish students' perspectives of the US and of Turkey. I'm tempted to ask my colleagues to play the same game in their classes, and report back. If anything, it's forced me to think.

Love and miss you all. Stay in touch. I'll keep this up.

Celebrity or Solitude

A recent string of events has forced an early return to the US - at least earlier than anticipated. And while some days have carried on like molasses, I long to hold onto what I have, and also to what I don't have. I've spent so much time confronting a busy mind. I've learned to steady some things, and to submit to some maddening episodes stirred up by the unquiet imagination and a fickle spirit.

My time alone has been cherished. I've built a simple life for myself in a small, sleepy town that's welcomed me as a member of the community. I've developed relationships that go as far as the friendly smile and the warm greeting, though I've developed many that go further than that. And especially just recently. It seems as though I've finally been swallowed up into the social and cultural fabric of downtown Bilecik. I see the workers at 'Borek Hunkar' or 'Tozman' on a daily basis. At dinner, they know exactly what I'm down to order, save a dish or two. I love the salata ve corba combination, especially when it accompanies my tavuk with a sauce that's perfect for dipping fresh bread into.

It's been nice then, despite all the complaining, to have this time for myself. To hop a bus to Eskisehir on any given day and wander the streets humming tunes under my breath is so free. Nobody knows where I am, and nobody knows who I am. And then I go back to class, on a Monday morning, and the non-discreet glances get in my way. It's celebrity or solitude and sometimes, I don't mind either.

Taking Class in a New Direction

I tried something different in class this week. My lesson focused a bit on English grammar (my students are learning the 'past continuous' tense and modals), but after the first hour, I decided to change gears. I take the Fulbright Program's mission to heart, and I've started to examine what it means to bridge cultural, social, and political gaps between countries. Being in Turkey provides a unique challenge as social and cultural characteristics seem markedly different from those in the United States.

Inspired by a favorite Professor of mine at Wheaton College, I decided to play a word-association game. I simply put the word 'America' on the black-board and asked students to write whatever words came to mind - uncensored, free of judgement. I wanted them to be honest, poignant, and forward. While I've only asked a few classes to participate, many of the same or similar adjectives were noted. I've listed a number of them below:

Exploitation

Crowded

Devil

Honest

Finance

Gorgeous

Independence

Capitalism

Twin Towers

Technology

Obama

CIA

Murder

Shopping

White House

War

Priest

Black people

Hollywood

Racism

Bombing

Freedom

Church

Grand Canyon

Iraq

Tupac

FBI

Sneaking

Artist

Jazz

Poker

Jail

I hope to carry forth this activity through the remainder of the week. So far I've found their responses incredibly compelling, and would be interested to see a side-by-side comparison of words young US university students would associate with Turkey. I decided to chose this activity as a method through which to highlight the pervasive nature of stereotypes, and then to push back against them with more lessons touching upon US lifestyles, politics, etc. Ideally, I hope to strengthen bonds between the cultures by drawing interesting and powerful parallels. It's up to me to figure out exactly how to go about doing that.

More to come on this. Peace.

Istanbul

Ankara'ya

I just returned from the Fulbright mid-year meeting, which played out more like a motion picture than some dull, polite, check-up from the organization. As a few of my colleagues noticed in retrospect, the meeting served as an appropriate case-study for examining the program at least up until now. Every ETA was to give a 5 minute presentation on their experience. For some, 5 minutes only provided enough time to forewarn listeners of the host of logistical, cultural, political issues they've confronted during their stay. Therefore, the meeting had to sacrafice key segments for lack of time. Typical. For the most part, people's experiences were positive. For a few too many, however, their Fulbright year has been rife with stressful issues surrounding housing, payment, and the like. The program has, at times, dropped the ball. But we were frequently reminded that our experience - in particular - being the first year of an expanded program - was different than any other ETA experience in the world. We, unlike so many, have been placed in relatively undeveloped towns and cities throughout Turkey. You will not, for instance, find Bilecik, Karabuk, Osmaniye, Kars, or Duzce in your Turkish guide book. And though I feel awful for some of my colleagues who have had experiences more akin to the Peace Corp than Fulbright, I'm genuinely grateful for the opportunity to live - to completely saturate myself - in small-town Turkey. As I've said, Bilecik is very Turkish. Cultural milieu's are pronounced and pervasive, and although I embarrass myself nearly every day in my chronic struggles with the language and the customs, I'm having an experience well worth the sacrifice. I take the vision and the mission of the program very seriously, even if many townsfolk, students, and colleagues can't fathom why I'm here. I am part of a very important idea - one that places face-to-face diplomacy and education ahead of bureaucratic jargon, economic trade-negotiations, sanctions, or warfare. I am an American in Bilecik, Turkey exposed to all the privileges and shortcomings that my identity provides.

We stayed at the Ankara Hilton, which is somewhat regrettable when I realize that I won't likely stay in a Hilton anytime soon. I've reached my peak, folks, and I'm only 22. I closed my eyes for a few moments during the divine and complementary Turkish breakfast just to soak in the moment. The olives, the fruits and nuts, the breads, and the fresh juices were all too much to handle. I have a slight feeling that this program is setting unfair expectations for the futures of its participants. And no kidding, meeting Ambassador Ricciardone revealed that he too was a Fulbright ETA in Italy. His experience as you might imagine was quite different, but according to his testimony, it allowed him to really internalize what it is to see the US from an outsiders perspective. I echo his sentiment of a greater appreciation for the US while also understanding on a more personal level how our actions effect the lives/perceptions/sensibilities of others. This, in turn, compels us to be more inquisitive and perhaps more critical of what we do. It's an understanding I will take with me wherever I go in life. Empathy is an especially important intellectual and emotional register that inevitably dissolves a certain blind bliss, but also brings you so much closer to other people.

More on the Hilton later. It really was awesome.

Goodnight.

Monday

Happy Monday readers! There's nothing like the fresh feeling of starting a new work week. Now before I continue, you should understand that I care deeply for my students. I wish them the greatest amount of success and happiness, and long to contribute to that. With a dodgy sense of the English language, however, the gap between what's said and what's meant is often wide.

That's why, when a student today suggested I "should come to bed," I nearly lost it. The class quickly caught on, and ignited in hysterical anarchy. There was a violent volley of exuberant high-fives, heads buried in each others' arms, a loss of humanity amongst my most serious and devoted disciples. While the young men nearly foamed at the mouth, and the women choked on air, I did my best to calm them down. I believe in leading by example, and so I stood erect (too soon?), hanging onto a calm expression with all I had. And lost it again. Sometimes you've just gotta devote a hearty 10 minutes of class time to laughter. I'm justified because I make my own rules here.

I don't feel all that bad about the student and his overzealous invitation. I struggle each and every day with a language I've only been exposed to for a matter of months. I find myself combining the most unnaturally designed combinations of words, and rely way too much on certain words. For all I know, I've answered "very beautiful" to questions regarding the most heinous things. It's a wonder I'm able to convey basic ideas. It's a wonder people sometimes take me seriously.

That's all for now. The stares at the cafe I frequent are burning through me. It's not animosity, or appreciation even. It's simply that in rural Turkey, there aren't many foreigners. And by "not many," I mean that there aren't any. At all. I'm it - the village foreigner with the charming smile. Time to get back to it.

I miss you all deeply. More to come soon.

Suleimaniye Camii

Istanbul is Rather Nice

I finally managed to escape sleepy Bilecik and spend some more time in Istanbul with a friend who lives in the lovely neighborhood of Beskitas. I've come to know my way around the city quite well, and as I explore deeper and gain a sense of familiarity with my surroundings, certain spots reveal a once-concealed charm. Beskitas is among them, with its cobble-stone streets and buzzing fish market, where cats congregate in hopes of a fresh meal and for general recreation. The dog population of Beskitas is evolved. They are by no means going hungry, and they're particularly adept at getting from place to place without causing trouble. Their motions are deliberate, as if they've got an important meeting to attend, or as if they've simply routinized their day. They carry themselves with poise, never stooping to sniff the ground and they enjoy the company of people, choosing to idly share their company if not running late for something.

Besiktas moreover rests on the water, with ferry boats frequently floating across the Bosphorous to Kadakoy, on the Asian side. Simply sitting by the water with a chai and some good company is enough for a memorable afternoon. There's something about sitting by the Bosphorous. The relentless, unexpected gusts of wind, the salty air, the layers of history lying literally beneath your feet, or to your left or right. The cities historic landmarks bleed naturally into the cityscape. They're not unnaturally highlighted for a lucrative tourist industry. Rather, church ruins lean lazily into ancient palaces, bank buildings, or active mosques, themselves over 600 years old.

Bilecik itself has the trappings of ruins of conquerers and past empires. Minarets of old mosques destroyed by the Greeks lie tattered, but standing, near the center of town. On my walk to the Business Administration Faculty, where I teach more frequently this semester, what seem to be old stone fences or barriers wind themselves up and around a large hill.

Some changes to Bilecik have occurred over the past month and a half. It took me a few days to notice the brand new TurkCell store that opened up near my bank. This is Bilecik's third TurkCell store, and I wonder how many are to come. I'm reminded of Greenfield's absurd number of fast food restaurants. I don't include Dunkin' Donuts in that category, because there is always need and appreciation for more of those. But TurkCell seems to be wanting to take over things around here. It's a fascinating company, and I'm slightly threatened by their powerful allure. Their color scheme, orange and blue, is enough to rope any sucker into a more expensive cell phone plan. I'm dropping Turkish Lira like its hot.

One thing hasn't changed in Bilecik. I still sometimes feel like a zoo animal. The stares are comically frequent and deliberate and long. My students, at least, need lessons in what it means to be discreet. And maybe I'll teach them. I am the teacher, after all. Alas, I am being observed carefully as I type. No sudden movements or my stalkers heads might explode. I don't have major self-esteem issues, but this is getting to be a bit much. I know I'm handsome, but I'm a few push-ups and hair gel dabs away from Brad Pitt, ya know?

Sultanahmet Camii in the Evening

Annnd They're Back!

The students have arrived. My routine is beginning to take shape once again, and this is helpful. I've been having fun creating unique lesson plans that are hopefully exciting and memorable for the students. At times though, I've found myself compromising a full-fledged smile for a stern look and a few moments of unspoken condemnation. In general, however, I'm flattered by the appreciation and warmth shown by my students. They understand that I'm a normal 22 year old, with the same humor and the same exuberance.

Having taken over a few new classes, I've confronted students far behind the class material I taught last semester. It's frustrating mainly because I realize it's no fault of the students. Some of them have simply been left behind by instructors who don't care. I've truly inherited a sense of what it takes to be a good teacher, and for the record, I think I'm a good one.

So much of being an effective teacher is establishing a culture of confidence amongst students. I don't shy away from humor, and I do my best to keep the classroom environment light albeit focused. But enough of that.

While the last number of days were spent in a sort of suppressive haze, birthed from somewhere inside, today was different. The liberating effect of routine kicked in. I donned my new suit, my modern-day suit-of-armor, and tore threw my classes with grace. This weekend, I travel to the most beautiful city in the world to walk along the Bosphorous, smell the salty air, and feel the buzz of the Grand Bazaar, or nighttime in Besiktas, Istiklal, or Beyoglu.

As always, feel free to stay in touch.

Refugee by the Sea (Lake Iznik)

Shenanigans in North-Western Turkey

Before I forget.. my friend from Egypt and I visited Iznik as part of our tour of NorthWestern Anatolia. Iznik, known by Christians as Nicea, was a quiet, subdued town on the edge of a great lake. It was peaceful, insanely historic, and surprisingly close to my very own hometown of Bilecik.

Places like Iznik (Nicea) make Turkey such a treat. Here we find a small Turkish town, devoid of the trappings of touristy glits and glam that come to encompass parts of Istanbul, the Aegean coast, and areas to the Mediterranean South. It was authentically Turkish in its quiet, gentle disposition, only it, as my friend aptly declared "pooped out artifacts" in insane quantity. Not only were we able to enter the Aya Sofya Church, where the ancient Christian Nicean Council essentially established the Christian doctrine, but we walked through passageways and overhangs inscribed with ancient Roman text. We stumbled upon an ancient amphitheater where we found the only other tourists we'd seen all day. It was marvelous.

Besides nearly firebombing my lungs (we smoked cigars on the lakefront), it was a tremendous day and the perfect capstone to a series of adventures. An uncorrupted, small Turkish town of the most incredible historical/religious significance! Who knew? Just another day in Turkey, I guess.

And this time, I'm serious. Goodnight!

Classes begin... sort of...

The week really took it's time coming to end, unfortunately sliding into an even slower, more mundane weekend. After fending of illness, I was excited to begin classes. I looked forward to meeting my new students. Even the classroom changes had me walking with an extra bounce in my step. But alas, while classes have indeed started, the students have not.

It was a long week, then. I would visit my empty classrooms and walk around a bit before walking out the door and back to my office or my flat. I tried to make myself busy by doing taxes, running, hoping from cafe to cafe, or trying to count the dust particles on my shoes. I read online today that Gene Hackman played the voice of Nuclear Man in the 1987 film, Superman IV: The Quest for Peace. I also learned that too much incense can cause cancer of the respiratory tract, similarly to too much of anything. I tore through a fair amount of a book I've been reading, and wanted to go exploring Bilecik a bit more, but my legs were drained from the morning run. And left to my own devices, my mind creeps, and slips and slides around, lingering on the bad spots. When I'm bored, I'm bothered, melancholy, and all-together anxious.

So I'm going on a day-trip tomorrow. I'm going to Eskisehir to walk along the canal, relax at Khave Dunyasi, hopefully find a park to look at. Next weekend? Istanbul. I always have things to look forward too, and I'm fortunate for that.

I could be suffering from vacation withdrawal - a very real possibility considering the stimulation, excitement, and insanity of what I've confronted and witnessed this past month. Home was beautiful to see. It was beautiful to see my parents, my beloved dog Otis, and those closest to me. And of course, Cairo.

Or, maybe, it's the empathy I'm feeling for those confronting difficult times and events in their lives. It hasn't been one instance this week of something gone wrong, it's been several, and my heart devotedly extends to the people in my life in tough times. We all go through 'em, that's for certain.

Now it's time for my students to get over whatever's ailing them and show up next week. If you're a student of mine, and you're reading this, come to class. Come to class because I love teaching and I need something to do.

Finally, I've been saving the latest episode of 'MadMen' for tonight. I'm suped. What a show!!

Goodnight all! Stay in touch and keep it real.

As I write this, CNN and all of the major networks are announcing Mubarak's resignation. And despite having been relieved to get out safe and sound, part of me wishes I was back there where the electricity and the promise of change buzzed, sparked, and cracked. Egypt is free!

Demonstrations in Tahrir

February 8th

I needed a few days to unwind, and unwind I did. From the mayhem of mid-Revolution Cairo, I caught the emergency flight to Istanbul where I stayed in a dirt-cheap (but not at all unpleasant) hostel for a few nights before my friend doing a Fulbright in Egypt arrived. Prior to his arrival, I did very little but to catch my breathe. I slept as much as I could, missing breakfast for three consecutive days, before leisurely showering and sidestepping crowds of tourists on my way to a cafe in Sultanahmet. There I read articles, analysis, and watched interviews concerning the goings-on in Egypt. The first night, I treated myself to a nice dinner as a way to unwind. A good meal always has a way of steadying the mind.

By the time my refugee Fulbright friend arrived, I was glad to entertain. We moved my bags down the street to another hostel, where we made plans to see the major sights of Istanbul in a short two days. We would then head down to sleepy Bilecik to explore the surrounding area. It was nice having my first official visitor, despite the unexpected circumstances. We toured the city quickly, then hoped a bus south. We visited Bursa, then Iznik, before he had to head back to Istanbul for a Wednesday flight to the states. Given the situation in Egypt, the Fulbright program there said they would contact him in no less than 30 days with a definitive answer as to whether the program would continue.

I'm still following the events in Egypt with great interest. I'm dismayed by the US approach as they try to walk a tight-rope between appeasing long-time ally Mubarak and asserting their supposed principles. Any support of recently-appointed Vice President Suleiman seems suspect, especially given his suggestion that Egypt is not yet ready for democracy. The likelihood of a religiously-motivated political movement exploiting the power vacuum seems unlikely. We're talking about the Muslim Brotherhood here, not the Iranian clerics. The MB's embrace of democratic principles and more progressive positions of controversial social issues have maintained their popularity and their viability, and in such a political situation, I can't see them turning back on those values. Their tactful pragmatism has allowed them to survive the most pressing and uncertain circumstances, and they're not about to throw that all away. As has been mentioned, these demonstrations were ignited by the young, the educated, and the secular. But what's kept the fire ablaze have been the contributions and support of all fragments of society, from the Islamists to the communists. So while Suleiman spouts fire, the millions protesting have other thoughts. From what I've been reading, protestors in Tahrir are not moving. They are overcome with the feverishness of hope in the wake of long-suppressed freedom and opportunity. Regardless of what sort of political reality takes shape, Egypt has changed. Mubarak will be gone, hopefully sooner than later.

Most recently, I ran into a bout of sickness. After 48 hours of hibernation, my heads a little steadier and the legs a little less wobbly. I polished off an orange and some tomatoes, and am back on my way to feeling great. Classes have resumes, although the students have taken it upon themselves to prolong vacation for another week. It is what it is. I'll see them soon enough.

A day at a time, my friends. Stay in touch.

Tahrir Square, Cairo, Egypt

Cairo, Egypt

Flying home business class on an emergency flight from Cairo to Istanbul, I met a middle-aged German gentleman who had arrived in Cairo to run an annual marathon. We had been among the final 10 people allowed to board the flight out of an increasingly hectic, violent, and dangerous Cairo where the news of the day was that the Egyptian minister in charge of security forces, rashly motivated, opened the prisons sending potentially thousands of criminals onto the streets. While my friends and I hadn’t had access to the Internet and therefore any useful news for the last few days, the sporadic waves of information we did acquire every so often were shrouded in layers of bewilderment, mystery, and anticipation. The night before, I woke up every now and again to the crack of gunfire in the distance. Neighborhoods had apparently organized their own security forces in the absence of the police and were firing warning shots as part of a method of organization and warning. My friend and I had gone out the evening before to grab a bite to eat at an open stand not far from the apartment. Men and women carrying sticks and pointed objects in order to protect their businesses from potential looters met us with peaceful smiles but the weapons in hand sent a different message. The anxiety flooding Cairo was palpable.

As we marveled over the luxuries of Turkish Airlines business class (where we were ironically placed as the final people to board) – the spacious leg room, HD televisions in the head-rests, uniquely-packaged magazines, and the electronic seat adjusters – my German friend joked that we ought to find another country on the verge of political collapse and catch a flight out of there. Perhaps we’d nail another pair of business-class plane tickets. He mentioned Sudan. I smiled the best I could in quiet agreement.

What we both found less funny, and in fact appalling, was the way in which the waning Mubarak regime had deliberately contributed to the chaos Cairo now finds itself. The President’s refusal to step down and the liquidation of the prison system only meant more anger fueled by fear. But I realized that such brutality only scratches the surface for the Egyptian people – a population that has suffered brutal repression and a severe lack of opportunity for decades. I learned what it must be like to be Egyptian, and witnessed the pain of living under such repression bubble up and spill over as a young but sizeable movement of men and women assembled in the streets.

Having had studied the Muslim Brotherhood, regarded as the largest and most influential opposition movement in Egypt, I was interested to hear mostly secular chants from the throngs of demonstrators in Tahrir Square. “God is Great!” was chanted sparingly relative to simple albeit passionate declarations of freedom and disdain for Mubarak’s thirty-year reign. While it’s impossible to assign a leader to the movement (it seems Twitter and text messaging played a significant role) it seems to me that the demonstrations were student-led. I noticed one sign advertising the secular Wafd party, but that was one amongst hundreds that crossed my sights.

One demonstrator on the morning of the 28th, his face blackened with soot, wearing an Egyptian flag on his back, the side of his head bandaged tightly, was distributing pink carnations to soldiers in tanks who had moved into Tahrir in the early morning hours. Tear gas still wafted through the air as a reminder of what had transpired the night before. The military presence seemed a reassurance for the demonstrators who met them with bread and juice handouts in a deeply moving display of gratitude and appreciation. The gatherings evoked feelings of patriotism and of victory, at least for the time being. Police forces were driven out of the city, first by protestors and later by the military, and the gigantic National Democratic Party headquarters – a symbol of tyranny – burned in the background. The military stood idly by, and the people marched.

Small albeit violent skirmishes between lingering police and the demonstrators persisted. Rumors circulated that live fire was being used against demonstrators, and between the military and the police. The maze of allegiances wasn’t easy to comprehend. The military seamlessly took to protecting the people from police oppression, including plain-clothed thugs apparently hired out for a few pounds a day to wield clubs and suppress dissidents. But my friend and I are wary of how long the collaboration between demonstrators and the military will last. Despite the cooperation, the idea of turmoil doesn’t seem too far-fetched, especially as the gap in political power and in civil organization deepens, and the streets become more lawless.

It will no doubt be interesting to see how Egypt withstands the chaos: who falls, who rises to power, and the political consequences of such a transition. Protests have ignited throughout the Arab world as calls for freedom grow more furiously. The example of Tunisia, and now Egypt, may have inspired the most downtrodden of the most repressed countries, and the global political results may prove momentous. Finally, with the Internet back at my disposal, I’m able to read what information the media has gathered. The Egyptian movement is anxiously waiting for the military to make a decisive decision: the people or Mubarak.

While exciting to watch history unfold before my eyes, I withstood not only the wonder and excitement of it all, but also the fear and uncertainty. I’m stuck in overdrive, having seen events I found poignant but also profoundly frightening. While hardly confronted with the prospect of getting seriously hurt, I would have like to stay in better contact with my poor parents. I’ve traversed a broad spectrum of emotions these past few days and despite the serene scene in Sultanahmet's very own Starbucks, I’m still in need of a catharsis. I’m anxious, but talking and writing about it is somewhat of an emotional outlet.

Peace