Teaching, Teaching, Teaching.

Classes have started and I've been thrust into the world of teaching University. I have an astonishing number of students - upwards of 180 - who are bound to keep me on my toes. Luckily, despite all the rhetoric I've heard of students disliking English, they seem very enthusiastic and engaged. This is good given my emphasis on verbal communicative English. Now if only my Turkish would suddenly kick in, I'd be able to identify important questions and rude comments. As of now, however, I've encountered no problems. It's especially nice to see them outside of class, tossing me a wave from across the street, or issuing an enthusiastic handshake. The place I'm currently staying is in the center of town. I literally cannot be outside for more than 10 minutes before a student waves me town or tries to engage in some conversation. It's nice.

One unexpected reality is that the students are very new to speaking English. This does not necessarily mean, however, that they are unaccustomed to reading and writing English. From what I've gathered, students know grammar quite well. Speaking is simply a realm of language learning they haven't yet entered.

Walking about town and on campus is a hoot. The stares I acquire are enough to make anyone blush, especially a tall, fair-skinned, non-Turkish anomaly of a man. It's fair to say I could walk around Salt Lake City in fish nets, and a huge purple Willy-Wonka hat and inherit the same stares. I'll get used to being the foreigner, and by that time people will be over it. Go figure.

It's nice to have meet the people I work work directly with. They are younger ( in their 20s) and incredibly helpful. I am heavily indebted to their hospitality and resourcefulness. I'm sure I will grow close with them, and establish some meaningful relationships in this beautiful country.

At night, if I'm not lesson planning, I'm outside at a cafe reading and sipping tea. A few nights ago, I sat alone at the cafe nearest my hotel smoking nargile (hookah), drinking chai, and dipping into Orphan Pamluk's "My Name is Red." The call to prayer, what I missed dearly from my time in Cairo, rang out and saturated the streets. It's an indescribable feeling, hearing the call to prayer on such a night. A mix of wonder and peace - a feeling I truly appreciate. Everything seemed to slow down, and I absorbed the moment fully. It was good.

So I'm thinking I may slip downstairs and sit at a cafe for a bit now. I could go for some tea.

Bu-bye for now.