Ah, the baglama

I had another lesson today, girl! It was super. I'm learing how to add ornamentation and it sounds so cool! I hope that one day I can play for all of you. At the moment I'm not very confident about playing for people, but I'll get there.

When I'm learning something new, it's so frustrating, because it takes a while for my fingers to catch up with my brain. After a while, I can do it, and I get flutters in my stomach and my fingers just dance.

Today I asked him who is oldest student is--one guess as to who that is. He has unlimited patience when it comes to my catching on. He realizes that when most people pick up the saz, they already know the songs so they catch on really quick. It'll take me a while longer to get the songs etched into my heart, but I tell you some of the already have it. I started learning one of my favorite songs today, and I'm so excited about practising! I have a music degree, but I've never been a dedicated praciticer--that's all changing now.

Well, time to practice now. La la la!

Christmas

For the first time in my life I find myself thinking about the meaning of Christmas.

Most people here think that Christmas is a special new year's celebration. I'm not sure why they confuse the two. For some reason, they think that Christmas is on the same day as New Year's. When I tell them that indeed it's not, they still insist on translating "Christmas" to "New Year's". So then I find myself explaining that Christmas is the day that Jesus was (supposedly) born and everyone in Europe and the States celebrates his birthday. With my limited language skills, it's difficult to explain that while the day on the calendar is called Christmas, not everyone believes Jesus was/is the Son of God and what we are celebrating is entirely unrelated. At least, that's how it goes in my family.

So as I prepare try to bring Christmas to my apartment with meager decorations, I contemplate what it really means to me. I always knew (and told others) that Christmas was about getting together with family and showing them that I love them, but now I feel it. I can almost hear the Christmas carols my dad is playing on the stereo. I can smell my mother baking her annual Christmas cookies and stollen, a sweet German holiday bread with raisins, currents, and nuts. I can hear the hushed voices of what my siblings are getting Mom and Dad this year. The crinkle of wrapping paper and the zzzt of the tape dispenser float around my ears with the anticipation of the recipient opening the hidden treasure fluttering around my heart.

With my parents and brother in Madison, my sister in some other far-off Middle Eastern country this year, and me here in Turkey, Christmas is going to have a very different feel this year. Perhaps this is the start of a new chapter for my family. People usually celebrate in the family unit, later go to the grandparents, and then celebrate even later with friends. Kyle arrived this morning, so this our first Christmas without either of our families close to us.

Ah, the poor dear! He traveled for about two days on six planes to get here from Ecuador. He is now sleeping soundly at home and may wake up at 3 am, before even the first call to prayer.

Merry Christmas, friends!

Convenience

American convenience stores could learn something from the Turks.

In the States, these so-called convenience stores offer over priced, over processed, chemically laden foods that can cause a myriad of health problems after time. It's virtually impossible to find fresh produce or even a healthy snack in one of these places (or even some supermarkets). Hot dogs have been cooking all day on the heated rollers; who knows where the meat came from? "Freshly baked" donuts sitting in the warm glow of a glass case await your soft fingers to put them into your hungry mouth. Where's the oven? Maybe in the store (not bloody likely), maybe in town (it's a possibility), or even in the next state (most probable). What does freshly baked mean? Fresh from a mix? Fresh from storage? Fresh from the donut factory? Even the granola bars that are available are hardly what I would call healthy. If I made granola bars at home that turned out half as crunchy as the store bought ones, I would make a mental note to take them out of the oven a little earlier next time.

These places were not designed with everyone in mind. Only if you have a car and don't care what you eat, then yes, these places are a God-send. I can't tell you how many times I haven't found a safe place to lock my bike and couldn't find a healthy snack in one of these shacks.

The Turkish idea of convenience is truly convenient. Convenient stores are several in every neighborhood (without a gas station). I walk past 6 of them on my way down the hill from my apartment, a walk that takes less than three minutes. They usually sell fresh cheese, butter, an assortment of fresh and organic fruit and vegetables, water, milk, jelly, and lots of other things. They also have some prepackaged junk food, but it doesn't dominate the shelf space like in the States. People know the shopkeepers and probably call them on the phone and tell them what they want. The shopkeeper then brings the goods outside of the proper apartment building where a basket on a rope is waiting. He places the stuff in there and the customer pulls the basket up, unloads, and then lets down the money. How convenient is that? You don't even have to leave your home! If I didn't live on the ground floor, I would arrange something like this.

Another convenience are the cart merchants. Carts are everywhere and anywhere. Some guys walk around, yell/singing their advertisement to the neighborhood. There is one guy who comes through mine buying and selling old metal things: screws, sheets, cans, buckets, rods, wires, frames of all sorts, folding things, and anything else you could think of. Others station themselves randomly (or maybe they have a pattern that I have yet to notice) and stand at an intersection, yell-singing what they are selling and how much it costs. When you walk past them, I hear, "Buoy-roon besh yooz-besh yooz besh-yooz!" or some other price.

Not all of them sing. There is a guy with a fish cart that I sometimes see on my way to work that stands there chatting with his friends or simply waits quietly, cutting the fish or adjusting the buckets of water to keep his fish moist.

Sometimes guys will have a pick-up truck bed full of just one thing like oranges, large bags of onions, potatoes or apples, park somewhere that is convenient and yell out his price. They must be really good deals because they always have people crowding around them. Selling stuff out of the back of station wagons is also common, though rather than food these guys sell clothing items like pajamas, kids clothes, or shoes.

The people working the carts and vehicles are tough to the weather. Last week there was a guy outside my office selling mandarins. It was bitter cold and at one point it started snowing. Instead of packing up, he put up an umbrella. The mandarins looked yummy from the fourth floor, so I went down and bought 1.5 kilos for 2 million lira (just over $1.40).

I wonder how much of an affect wanting to join the European Union will have on the cart merchants. Will they have to jump through more hoops in the law to get permits? Will the fish merchant have to have inspections by the health department? Maybe he already does, I don't know. Many people walk from the villages to Trabzon with a huge wicker basket strapped to their back full of fresh vegetables, nuts, fruits, or carcasses. What will they do?

Some Turks feel joining the EU is a dream that will never be fulfilled, while many others feel it is in a realm of possibility. I was reading last week that Ukraine also wants try their chances at joining, causing the founding EU countries to reconsider where their borders will end. Ten new countries joined last May, many of them agriculturally centered and financially poor, like Turkey. If Turkey joined today, the EU would be in a state of panic because that would cause a major power shift. Turkey has the largest population of any European country (around 60 million) and would then be the ruling majority.

Change is inevitable. Whatever the fate of the cart merchants and Turkey, things will "get different" (to quote my aunt). There will be benefits and consequences. My hope is that Turkey will still have a strong culture and identity, and--call me a dreamer--won't embrace the McDonaldization of the West with open arms.

Things to ponder

Things to ponder
Originally uploaded by Padre Denny.

I know this isn't about Turkey, but I found this when I was looking at some photos of my hometown.

Three days until Kyle arrives!

Language

Being a language teacher and attempting to learn a language myself has put the topic of language into the forefront of my existence. Getting my head around English grammar well enough to teach it is challenging, but in a way it's also fun. I like playing with the language and it's great to be learning about something I have been using my whole life that I know little about.

Turkish is just as challenging as English, but on a different level. Whereas I need to be able to explain English grammar without appearing a fool, I need Turkish to function in the real world. Sometimes I sit in cafes or restaurants and just listen to the Turkish sounds rolling over me, not bothering to try to catch every word. My ears catch some of the words, depending in the situation. Sometimes I am able to at least understand the topic of conversation, but other times I am a floundering swimmer in the middle of the Pacific. I wonder about all the people thinking and speaking in Turkish around me and how amazing it is to think that these people have been speaking Turkish their whole lives and have no problem with it, where in a parallel universe I have been speaking English without giving it a second thought.

When I see my students outside of class, I always speak English to them. The other day I ran into one of my students and her mother who lives four flights above me. During our conversation, the postman came by and asked me, in Turkish of course, why I haven't been getting any mail (I've been having it sent to the school). Everyone was quiet, waiting for me to answer. After a few moments I understood what he had asked and replied, "Posta yok!" (There isn't any post.) My student was so delighted that I knew what he was saying that she burst out laughing.

My Turkish must be getting better. Yesterday I dashed out for lunch into a borek and simit shop. Simit are these delicious sesame rings. I wasn't sure about everything they had behind the glass, so always going for the vegetarian option first I asked about something that looked like it had spinach in it. When I asked to explain what was in it, he looked at me like I was asking him to have his baby. After explaining that I only know a little Turkish, a smile spread across his face and he launched into "Where are you from and why are you in Trabzon?"

Every now and then I meet someone here who speaks German. I love speaking German, but I hate having to search for words. I think for every Turkish word I learn, I forget a German one. This concerns me, as this is half of my heritage. Of the three children my parents have, I am the only one who can speak or understand it. When I think about this, I want to pack up all my bags and head straight to my birthplace, and throw myself back into German culture. I have no idea what I would do there, where I would live, or how I would get food, but this desire is sometimes so strong that I feel my heart being ripped in two. But then, I'm young.

Oh, not for long! I just realized that if I live until I'm 80, my life is almost half over. Will I ever get to live in Germany? I hope so.

No time for such thoughts now. I have to learn about relative clauses, subject/object questions, the differences between present perfect and simple past, and what to make for Christmas dinner.

Small talk about the weather

It's been raining four days during last the eight here, and while it's been snowing all over Turkey for a month now, Trabzon saw snow for the first time two nights ago. It came down in large heavy flakes, drenching everything to make the use of an umbrella necessary. As I trudged up the big hill (which is really the base of a mountain) to my apartment, I was soothed by the sound of water running towards the sea. Even though I was exhausted and cold, I felt I could breathe easier with the sound of water all around me. It was most relaxing.

Last night walking around was almost dangerous. It was snowing again, but this time the temperature had dropped and was making the fallen snow into slushy ice. I was wearing my sneakers and had my baglama slung over my shoulder, so I walked most cautiosly. This morning the cobblestone hill wasn't much better and I learned that going down slippery surfaces is much more difficult than going up. Everything was successful, though and I made it safely to my saz lesson.

Oh!

One of the main reasons I'm here is to learn more about the baglama saz (the 'g' in is silent--bah-lama). Seven years ago I was an exchange student at Marmara University in Istanbul and took about 3 months of saz lessons. What's a saz? Technically, saz means "musical instrument" in Persian, and the baglama is a member of the long necked lute family. It's the most popular folk instrument in Turkey and there are a variety of ways to play it and tune it. I'm still not clear on all the different styles, so as I learn more, I'll tell you more. Right now all I know is that when I hear someone playing it very well, my heart cries out in such a way that I nearly weep with joy. A few weeks ago I started taking lessons with a really good teacher, and I'm now learning the style of improvisation that many players use. The sound of the instrument is soft compared to that of the guitar, but nonetheless full. Check out these sites to learn more.

Here some photos of its loveliness.

Turkish Weddings

Two people I know were recently married here in Turkey. One is my good friend Bahadir and the other is Emma. The Turkish wedding ceremony is a little different from that in States. Instead of walking down the aile in a church (Muslim people don't go to church), the sit at a table and sign a book next to a guy with a microphone telling something to all the guests. During this time, they also kiss the Koran. What the announcer says might be similar to what they say at American weddings, but I can't be sure. Anyway, after the ceremony, the couple gets up from the table, the announcer introduces them as Mister and Misses So-and-So and they have their first dance. This is followed by much dancing by all the guests and from then on it's your typical post-wedding celebration, but with Turkish music instead of American (duh).

The ceremonies are sometimes held in auditorium halls so that everyone can see. Flowers are given to the couple from people and companies wishing them well.



At Emma's wedding, there were lots of flower arrangements like these here. Afterwards, there was the traditional kissing line as they left the hall (I can't remember if Bahadir's had this or not). As everyone came and kissed her, they gave her either a gold bracelet or pinned a red thing (not sure exactly what the red thing is--a flower?) on her dress. The goal is to make her chest as red as possible.

Why am I showing you this? I got this picture when I came out of the Internet cafe last week in pouring rain. Outside the very expensive Zorlu Hotel were hundreds of these flower arrangements. Apparently, somebody who is very rich got married last Sunday. Wee! I got to see the bride and I must say she was beautiful.

Home Sweet Home

Here are some photos of my apartment.


My bedroom shortly after arriving in Trabzon.

Here is the living room.


That round, brown thing is the coal stove that we use to heat our place. Recently it hasn't been giving off very much heat. I'm not sure why. So as a back-up on lazy (most) nights, we use the electric heater. Getting coal on your hands is quite annoying, because it stays under your nails for a week.



This is the living room that connects the kitchen to the warm living room. It's the first room you see when you walk into my apartment.


This is where I do my cooking. I made pumpkin soup last week. Mmmm, sweet.

Okay, that's all of my apartment. I could show you the two bathrooms, but do you really want to see them? One is a proper bathroom and the other is hole-in-the-floor-toilet that we have converted to a coal room.

Last Cappadocia Chapter

The third and last day I woke up in time to say good-bye to all the new friends I had made. Many of them have invited me to visit them some time in the future. Before they left, Asli and her family invited me to walk around Mustafapasha with them. Their destination was a particular street, the old 'main drag' hundreds of years ago.





Some of the dwellings have been frozen and heated so many times that half the rock has fallen off, as you can see here. There were some places closer to the bottom that I peeked into, but there wasn't much there.

Asli and her family had a long drive ahead of them, so they left soon after. I continued walking around and found this old church.



Here is what the inscription above the door says:

I am a church of the most August Royal Couple Constantine and Helen. In the times of Sultan Ahmet entirely built, in times of Abdul Medjit I was adorned as befits me. And in the era when the renowned Paisios was Bishop through efforts and expenses by the public of Sinasos erected from its foundations 1729, repaired in 1850.

This is the inside. Notice the blue marks on the columns, left over from frescoes. I couldn't actually get inside.

After my walk, I spent some time shopping and lounging around the hotel. The hotel staff had closed everything up, I guess because there weren't any more guests coming for a while after Bayram. Ismail had been speaking to me for two days in English, but for some reason he switched to Turkish this last day. As a result, I misunderstood him when he told me to catch a bus out of Mustafapasha to Urgup at 3:45. I thought he said he would take me. So at 4 o'clock I approached him and he explained what he had said earlier in English. Oy yoy yoy!

He quickly flagged down a passing car (not very many of these in a town of 600) with two army guys, one of whom spoke English. They very kindly took me all the way to the bus station. A couple hours later, I boarded the bus and started on the 16 hour bus ride back to Trabzon, which was made easier by talking to my seat companions. The first was a young woman studying to be an English teacher and the second a man studying to be a Special Ed teacher.

As I got off the bus in Trabzon, a man approached me asking if I am Nicole. Neslihan couldn't meet me at the bus station, so she arranged for someone to make sure I got on the shuttle bus that took me to her place. They fed me soup and unlimited amounts of lahmacun (la-h-ma-june), a Turkish style of pizza (kind of). There isn't any tomato sauce and no cheese, but it has meat, tomatoes, and other things on a thin dough. It's really good.

With food in my belly and my head as heavy as lead, I went home and crashed.

Aaaaah, to be home!

Cappadocia, the second day

First stop on the tour was the Red Valley overlook.



Next stop: Goreme.

The Goreme Open Air Museum is on the site of an old religious town.



There are several churches, monasteries, and nunneries. Some of them were built in the 6 century, but most of them are from the 9th century. Often times there were several levels above ground to these places, but time has not been kind to these passageways as many of them have collapsed, so one can only get to the ground floor in many of them. Even so, one could still pass through the many other passages connecting the existing rooms. Some of the places I saw were old dining rooms, kitchens, and chapels.



As much as possible was carved out of the rock. In the dining rooms, the eating and sitting surfaces were rock, and were probably covered by carpets, kilims and/or cushions to make them more comfortable. Little nooks had been carved out of the wall for storage and pits had been dug out of the floor for fires. Just walking through, everything looked bare and pale, but I tried to imagine what it had been like, carpets on the floors, curtains hanging from the windows, fires crackling in the pits, people calling out to each other, and dishes clanking together as a meal was being prepared.

After I wandered around the tourist shops for a bit, Ismail and I headed for Uchisar, the Rock Castle. On the way, we stopped at his friend's onyx workshop. (Ismail doesn't have time to make onyx sculptures anymore.) His friend showed me how the process for making these little works of art.



First you start with solid onyx.



Then you cut it into a block using a diamond blade. See the square thingee on the right block? That is used to hold the rock in place while it is turned round and round in the carving machine.
You can do any shape you want: elephants, egg holders, vases, lamps, chess boards, etc.



Cut off extra block on bottom. Polish. Viola! You have an onyx sculpture.

This is very dusty work and I am concerned about the effects of the dust on the lungs.

So then Uchisar. It can be seen a long distance away and provides a gorgeous view of a portion of the Cappadocia area. As it was a cloudy day, my photos of this didn't turn out as so nicely, so you'll just have to imagine what it looked like.

After that, we went to Pashabagi (pasha-baaah), a collection of fairy chimneys in which people once lived. Here is how the area formed.

It took millions of years for the
ash from these volcanoes to form a
layer of tuff, covered in places by
a further layer of basalt lava. The
basalt ultimately cracked and split
under attack from the weather and
rainwater seeped down through the
cracks and splits to slowly erode
the tuff itself. The natural effects
of alternating very hot and very cold
weather and the rain and the wind
breaking down the rock's resistance
caused (and continues to cause) the
emergence of the tall cones of tuff
capped by hard basalt which the Turks
call Fairy Chimneys.*

A couple ladders were available in case anyone wanted to climb in, which I did, and lost all my pocket's contents in the process. Nothing like dusty candy!





For lunch we went to an itty-bitty town called Zelva. I had gozleme, which is dough rolled thin with a long, narrow stick into a circle (much like yufka--see "How to make Borek"). Meat, cheese or spinach is put on the bottom half of the circle with a pat of butter and the other half is folded down. Then it is cooked on a big rounded metal circle shaped like a mushroom with fire underneath. It was in this place that I met Sehan Hanim, another of the guests from the hotel. She didn't speak a word of English, but could sometimes understand me if I spoke in English. Mostly I spoke Turkish on this trip, though. Sehan Hanim is 65, from Adana, and full of life. We had great laughs together.

Ismail invited Sehan Hanim and her family along to go to the last stop: Avanos. This town is famous for one particular pottery shop, where they teach you how to throw a pot.



We entered the place and sat on colorful benches where a man showed us how to throw a jug. First he pounded all the air out of the clay, and then he sat down at a kick wheel and most elegantly formed a red clay jug. A tour of the place followed into various cave rooms full of various pottery pieces.



The pottery was beautiful and included huge plates, small plates, ashtrays, bowls, vases, and jugs. Every piece was painted in a different style with colors spanning the rainbow.



This pottery shop also holds the Guiness Book of World's Record for the largest hair collection. I don't know how many strands of hair they have, although I'm sure it's over 10,000. One of the pottery guys started his collection about 10 years ago (if I remember correctly) by taking strands of hair from women only. Every year they randomly choose 10 strands and those women win a 15-day vacation where they can choose to ride horses all week or learn how to throw pots. So I tried my luck and added my hair to the collection.

By this time, I was dead tired. As soon as I got back to the hotel, I laid down in my new and heated (!) room and promptly fell asleep for four hours! I woke up at midnight and found my new friends sitting in the parlor drinking Cappadocian wine. They all spoke English, so we had great conversations. A few hours later, I went back to bed.

Cappadocia

Well, as it turns out, I didn't go to Gumushane. The school that wanted me wasn't willing to pay enough money, so it wasn't worth my time. Boy am I glad I didn't go, because the very next day I was ill. Phew!

Now back to my Cappadocia travels. Where were we?

Ah, yes. On the way to the bus terminal, Emine Hanim gave me instructions to take a dolmush from the Nevshehir bus terminal to Urgup to try to find a cheap pension. She had arranged for me to stay at a very expensive hotel in a little place called Mustafapasha, just in case I couldn't find a place on my own. She also gave me a list of places to visit in the area.

What I did: Since it was the first day of Bayram, there weren't any dolmushes, so I had to take a taxi. My driver had his 7-year-old son with him, and as soon as he caught on that I spoke a bit of Turkish began telling me all about the area at such a rapid pace that I could barely keep up with him! I told him that I just wanted to go to Urgup and find cheap lodging, but we ended up going all the way to Mustafapasha (a good 20 km further) because I told him about my hotel. A minor mistake, as you'll see in a few moments.



On the way, he stopped to gas up his car and stop at a lookout so I could take a photograph, the meter running the whole time. I couldn't help but feel a little anxious. Here I was, on my own in a new country where I didn't know the language, not knowing where I was going to lay my head for the next couple days. I must admit, I was a little scared.

When we arrived in Mustafapasha at about 1 o'clock in the afternoon, we stopped in the town center. Off to the left were weird people dancing to club music dressed up in red wigs, orange feather boas, and other strange outfits. Off to my left were some older Turkish men sitting on a bench. My taxi driver leaned yelled over my lap and asked them if they knew of a cheap place to stay. I was suspicious of the situation; how did I know these men didn't know each other and were just trying to set me up in their friend's place? One of the men on the bench recommended Hotel Pacha, just up the hill. It was there I met my host for the next three days, Ismail. Ismail told me he didn't have a vacancy, but told me I could sleep in the room he normally sleeps in, and that he would sleep elsewhere. After we bargained on the price, I agreed. Then I went to get my bags from the taxi.

At the bus terminal, I misunderstood what the driver had said, and thought I was to pay 5 million Turkish Lira to get to Urgup. Imagine my surprise when he asked for 52 million!
He told me it cost an extra 20 million to get from Urgup to Mustafapasha. Oi!


The room where I stayed is on the left through the last arch.


Upstairs. To the right is a lovely view of some Cappadocian landscape, and to the left is the door to the room I stayed the second night. Ismail is here with the blue and black cap.

As I settled into my little room, I wondered what I would do next. Having no guide book and only a list of places to visit, I wasn't sure what would happen. I needn't have worried, because as soon as I went upstairs, Ismail took care that my every need was met. He immediately took me on a quick little tour of the area around Mustafapasha. There are some old churches carved out of the stone nearby. He showed me the nicest one.


Front of church. I imagine it was painted lovely colors around the doorway.


Ismail inside the chapel.


View from the altar.


A sample of the frescoes.

After the church, he took me down a really muddy road to a mineral spring. He had me taste the water coming out of it, and it tasted very similar to mineral water without the carbonation, which was quite awful to my tongue. I had a few sips, just to savor the experience, but blech! it tasted terrible.

On the way back to town, he offered to take me on a tour of Cappadocia the next day. The taxi driver had offered the same thing for $100, but Ismail was only asking $50, so I accepted.

At this point I was getting quite hungry, so we headed back to town and I went to the restaurant that had all the strange people dancing in front of it. By this time, everyone was dancing, strange European people and Turks alike, to traditional Turkish music. A clarinetist and a drummer were playing loudly while the group had formed a circle, which was going very rapidly in a clockwise direction. Everyone seemed to be having a blast!



I observed for a bit, but then went and sat by a window in the huge dining room. The restaurant owner opened the curtains so I wouldn't miss any of the action. It was a strange scene, all these people in clubbing gear dancing in broad daylight to traditional Turkish music. There were several people video taping the whole thing with some amateur and professional video cameras.

At some point during my meal, an older gentleman came into the room with a saz and began packing it up. I hadn't seen him play, so I told him in my best Turkish that I was sad to have missed his performance, and that I'm interested in learning to play it as well. Upon hearing this, he became very excited and told me that he was having some friends come over tonight around 9 o'clock and would I be interested in coming, too? Sure! He knew my hotel host, so he knew where to pick me up later that evening.

As I paid my bill, I overheard the strangers speaking English. I went over and talked to them. It was then that I learned this was a group on a pilot project called the Human Web. (Their card says www.humanweb.tv, but it doesn't seem to work for me. Maybe y'all will have better luck than me.) Their goal is to make a new type of reality show, one with meaning. They want to learn about other people's celebrations, so they are going around the world and having a never ending party, so to speak. People from several countries are participating: Italy, England, Turkey, Spain, Lebanon, Canada, and some others I can't remember.

The party seemed to be closing down at this point, so I headed back to the pension. On the short way up the hill, I stopped at a shop that Ismail owns.



He explained to me earlier that he grew up in Mustafapasha and that his first business was this shop selling onyx sculptures which he made. One day, a man who owned the building that is now Hotel Pacha approached Ismail and asked him if he wanted to buy the place. Of course Ismail jumped at the opportunity and spent the next 10 years building the place up. His sons now run the shop which sells everything from onyx egg holders to hookahs to jewelry to small kilims. At the hotel, Ismail has a collection of woven carpets for sale. It was fun watching the other guests picking out their carpets. I plan on buying one myself, but I feel I should save a little first.

Back at the hotel, I met some of the other guests. My first encounter was a Turkish woman, Neval, and her friends. Neval is from Adana and her friends were from the Istanbul area. Most of them spoke English very well, one of them having lived in the States for 10 years. One woman was my age, Asli, and we hit it off pretty well. At one point we were looking at a book of Ismail's on Cappadocia and we came across a photograph of an old medrese. Neval said something, and before I knew it, five of us were walking out of the hotel and towards Ismail's shop. Across from the shop was a large building, the very same we were just looking at in the book! On either side of the doorway were columns, and Neval proceeded to turn them. This was totally amazing. They were designed to be a signal as to whether the building was balanced or not. Turkey is fraught with fault lines, so this measures the stability of the foundation. In the 600 or so years that this place has been standing, no major earthquakes have caused any damage because the columns turned with great ease. (I thought I took a picture of this place, but I didn't. Many apologies, 'cause it's really neat looking.) The medrese is now a carpet shop.

Shortly after this, Sülyeman, the saz player, came by to pick me up. He took me to his home, an old church, and gave me the grand tour. First we through a little door and negotiated down some very steep steps into the basement. There were two rooms: one with a wood stove lit in green light and another open room with benches on three sides lit with a small black light and disco ball. Everything was carved out of rock, much like the rest of Cappadocia. We went back upstairs and around a couple corners and I found myself looking at an old chapel into which a set of stairs had been built. Eight steps went up the outer walls to a small landing, and eight more steps went up in the center of the altar area. He took me up these and when I got to the top, he had me turn around. It was at this point that I saw this.



After the tour we went back to the basement and hung out in the green room, where he introduced me to his two daughters and their girlfriends who served me unlimited amounts of tea, baklava and dolma. We also danced our booties off in the open room where they taught me some Turkish dance moves.



Just as they were starting to show me how to belly-dance, Sülyeman came back with three or four friends, one of whom played the saz. Ahmet was the saz player, whom I later learned works in the medrese-turned-carpet-shop. Here he is playing the electric saz, which has a thicker, smoother sound than the acoustic. Ahmet tried to teach me a song on the saz, and I was able to pluck it out to everyone's satisfaction, but don't ask me to play it now. After a while, the saz playing ended, at which point I was becoming extremely tired. Sülyeman put on his coat, and instructed me not to fall asleep. His friends were coming in 20 minutes. Oh man, I thought his friends were already here!

As I sat there, drinking my twelfth glass of tea, I couldn't help wondering how many people were coming and how long everything was going to last. I didn't think this for long, however, because soon the Human Web crew came into the room and began pumping dance music through the speakers. The guy I met earlier was surprised and happy to see me, as I had been the topic at dinner for them. At some point they interviewed me on video--so watch out for me on American TV! It was really fun hanging out with them, dancing to Prince in a cave in the middle of Cappadocia.

An hour a half later they left, as did I. I was exhausted. I got back to the hotel at about 2 am, and Ismail was waiting up. He said he was also waiting for another guest, so he showed me the old kitchen, which was next to my room. Then he showed me where he would sleep, on a pile of cushions in the old kitchen. At one point during all this, he asked me if I wouldn't mind sleeping in the same room as me (there were two beds). I didn't feel comfortable with that idea, and I said as much. After closing the door to my room, I didn't feel very safe. So I tied the room key to my pajama pants, propped the ironing board up between the door and the end of the second bed, and put my suitcase in the window. Even then, it took me about an hour to fall asleep. All I could think about was one thing. All women of the world have this in common: we cannot be entirely trustful of men. Grrrr...

At breakfast the next morning, which included the rose jam--my new favorite, I asked Neval what she thought about the situation. She was of the opinion that he shouldn't have asked to sleep in the same room, but she would still go on the tour. She speculated that he probably asked me because I'm a foreign woman and might have more open attitudes to sleeping in rooms with strange men. I didn't get any creepy feelings from him otherwise, so I hung out with him all day, and I can say I regret it.

This is a situation in which part of me is enraged, but on the flip side he made sure I had everything I needed. On the tour, he took me everywhere and let me stay as long as I wished. He didn't follow me around unnecessarily or make me feel uncomfortable in any other way; he made sure I got good deals on my purchases, and he made sure I was well fed. I have reason to believe he was just being a lazy git when it came to setting up cushions for him sleep on, so I am inclined to forgive him. That said, I still wouldn't let him sleep in the same room as me if the situation came up again.

So the tour. It was awesome! First stop, Göreme Open Air Museum. The tourist price is 15 million Turkish Lira (about $10), but I told the guy I live in Trabzon and he let me in for 3 million ($1.50). Yeehaw for my residence permit!

Okay, I am now up to the point in my story where I need to upload more photos. More later, folks.

Did you miss me?