Tourist in Your Own City

Of course the rain pissed down and the winds howled on the one day I had to head out after work.  I went for a walk (getting mildly wet) to find the airport bus and journey to pick up my parents.  I found it without too much effort (Ishilay had called ahead), read my book and enjoyed the rolling scenery (amidst the rain stained windows) for the forty minute ride.  Naturally I forgot my scarf and hat (and it was cold) so I went for a cup of tea to warm up as there is nowhere indoors to wait for incoming flights.  Fortunately their plane was smack dab on time, and as Malatya is not a large airport, the luggage wait was quite prompt as well.  I whisked them back onto the bus and we headed home.  The rain quieted a bit as we walked up to our apartment, and I got them settled and with a glass of wine as I cooked dinner (Turkish manti- very similar to ravioli) and we waited for Joe to get home.

              

Last winter snow (we hope)

           The next morning we awoke to falling snow and many inches of it already sticking to the ground. Dad had managed to pinch a muscle in his back at some point the day before, and as Joe and I were working it gave him the opportunity to ice and rest it without feeling obligated to go outside.  We forwent our outing to the pub that evening and instead I came home when my classes finished and Mom and I went for a walk around the neighbourhood before coming in and making soup.  Joe joined us after work, and we played a game of Yahtzee and called it a night.

               

         By Monday morning, Dad was still in same pain (back pain is the worst) but the weather was sunny- a stark contrast to the day before, so we took the bus into town and went for a beautiful walk (albeit a little slower than usual) and down to the market before heading up to a restaurant on the hill that has a stunning view of the city. 

          
           By that point Dad’s back had had enough so I went off to Buglem (my standing Monday tradition) and met them back home by about 7.  I refreshed Mom’s backgammon knowledge and we had a relaxing evening.  Joe came home with a “walking stick” (you know the time, skinny, with a curved handle- rhymes with bane,) which we all got a good laugh out of- but it did make a difference as he healed, and good news.  There is a doctor is his speaking class and he wrote Dad a prescription for a muscle relaxant that would cut off the pain receptors and allow him to heal much faster and so on Tuesday we did just that.  Back into Malatya- armed with the walking stick- and found a pharmacist who spoke good English.  The only downside was that he couldn’t drink alcohol on this medicine, so after a stroll through the market and lunch, we headed for afternoon beers.  Needless to say I was a little tired at work, but the others came home and relaxed.

               

View of Malatya

Relaxing at the Pub

            On Wednesday morning the weather was miserable again, so Mom and I gave the boys a break and went to the mall for some shopping.  Mom found a cute top, but I have expensive taste and no “spare” money, so I did not fare as well.  By the time the boys came in, the power was out so Dad got to walk down eleven flights of stairs (our apartment is on the top floor) in order to get to the bus.  We met them in town and took them for a tour of our school, including coffee with Habib.  Our boss wanted to meet them, but he wasn’t there so we went for a walk to a doner shop and got them their first Turkish doner for lunch, before heading back to the school for an awkward conversation with the boss where he invited us to dinner the next day.  We accepted (as is polite in Turkish custom), and then blamed Dad’s back the next day and declined.  Joe and I both had classes that night, and I had moved Buglem from Thursday to Wednesday in order to have a relaxing day, and so M and D came home and skyped Em and did various other things and Joe and I both got home late.

             

              Our final day in Malatya shone bright and sunny again, Dad was continuing on the mend, and we found the bus to Battalgazi (the ancient part of Malatya) and although we didn’t know where we were going, we managed to find some ruins with English signs, and although they were poorly translated, they sufficed in getting the point across.  We finished up in Battalgazi and had a huge final lunch at one of our favourite restaurants, before dropping Joe at work and heading home.  We all rested for an hour and then Mom and I went on another walk (no one wanted dinner that night) and sorted out a way for them to get to the airport the next morning (Joe was a huge help and the secretary at work booked them a cab, so it was all easy-peasy.)  Mom and I drank and Dad watched us wistfully.  We had a lovely final evening, and it was nice that it wasn’t a final goodbye, as we will be seeing them in Cappadocia in just over a week!

p.s. all photos courtesy @brendadarlenedelvillepratt

Arrival Time

With my parents impeding arrival, Joe and I spent Monday re-arranging furniture in an attempt to make the house somewhat home-ier (we previously only spent time in the kitchen or bedroom as the couches were either broken or far too uncomfortable to sit on)- to be fair he did most of it, and I helped when things were too heavy or awkward- and then met Mustafa for coffee.  He had found a job for us that starts in September, saying it paid more than we make now (it doesn’t) and to which Joe and I told him in no uncertain terms that we have absolutely zero interest in staying in Malatya anyways.  He still dragged Joe to the meeting on Wednesday (I had a class, and even though it was cancelled last minute, I had no intention of going) as a favour to him.  No need to turn it down when it is as simple as that. 

Old living room furniture

The rest of the week has passed very quickly.  I have been busy sorting out bus cards and house keys and ensuring the sheets were clean- all things one does when expecting house guests, and Joe and I booked our bus tickets to Cappadocia (the first time I have booked tickets using Turkish with no one to help me) and I finally overcame my fears of getting a hair cut in foreign countries and found a place.  The guy cutting it was quite funny, my hair was seriously damaged- the bottom two inches especially, so he holds up the cut bit after his first cut and just says “kotu” which means “bad” in Turkish.  I laughed and agreed with him- it has probably been a good ten months since I last got a hair cut.  He spent a good hour working on my hair, bringing me baklava while he worked, and we chatted as far as my limited Turkish would take us.  When he showed me the cut at the end, it wasn’t as short as I had asked for, and he simply told me he didn’t want to cut it that short because it wouldn’t suit my face.  I said ok because I was happy with the length, but this is the third time I have been refused something.  The first time I was with a friend and we had salep (a Turkish cinnamon-y drink) and we tried to order French fries.  The waiter looked baffled and refused, and then last week Joe and I were at lunch and he tried to order a coffee. Again the waiter looked confused, “Yemek?” “Eating?” he said, and didn’t bring the coffee.  Coffee and food do not go together apparently.

The other main feature of the week has been furniture.  When we returned from our Christmas holiday, the freezer portion of the fridge stopped working.  The rest of the fridge stayed semi-cold, but things would go mouldy really quickly and I kept having to throw food away.  I approached Gungor about it a couple weeks ago, and he said to ask Onder for a new one but not to say that he had given me the idea.  I laughed, promised to keep him anonymous (I was pretty sure the fridge was older than I am) and then approached Onder.  He said he would send Wakas to look at it in a week, so two days later I lied and said it was getting worse and he sent Wakas the next morning.  Wakas confirmed my belief, that the fridge was indeed my age, and then said it was too old and he would get us a new one. 

New living room furniture

The next day (it was surprisingly prompt for Turkey) while I was at work, Wakas and two other guys showed up (three hours later than said) with a new fridge and four new pieces of furniture!  This was a huge surprise (my parents should have come months ago), and although they have a lingering smell of old cigarettes (clearly this is second hand furniture but beggars can’t be choosers) that I am hoping will air out soon.  This of course made our previous furniture arrangements moot, and so Joe and I spent this morning re-organizing, and although I would never have chosen this furniture it is a vast vast improvement.  The fridge has been an adjustment, as Joe and I had gotten so used to lukewarm food that we had forgotten what cold food or milk was supposed to taste like.  It was a minor readjustment for the taste-buds.  Only a day and a half to go, a few more final touches to be made and we will officially have visitors!  How exciting!

Observations

There is nothing like good ‘ol fashioned sexism in the classroom, and it’s even more irritating when your student has no idea that what he is saying is inappropriate.  Case in point. Yesterday, one of my students looked at me and said, 

“Can I ask: What’s your real job?”

Naturally I was surprised as I have never been asked this question before, and I responded, “This.  This is my real job.” 

He was baffled (real shock resonated through his features), “Really?” 

“Really,” I smiled to mask my uncertainty, unsure of where this conversation was going, “I have my degree in Linguistics and a Teaching Certificate that says this can be my real job.  I have been teaching for three years.  Why?”  I decided to tease him, “Am I bad teacher?”

No,” he replied, “You’re very beautiful, you’re not a bad teacher.”

His English wasn’t good enough for me to attempt a retort on the fact that beauty has nothing to do with teaching ability and explain just how inappropriate his comment was- it irks me to no end when students comment on my ‘beauty’, as I am not here to be the showpiece for ‘different’ aka ‘non-Turkish’ aka “beauty,” and although it is sweet, it is completely unprofessional- I would never have told my teachers that they were beautiful, but as Joe gets told he is handsome all the time by students (both male and female same as me, I don't know if you could classify it as 'sexism' and it is a fine line to cross when it simply comes to cultural differences or sexism) Having lived in a few places now, I am continually troubled by the idea that foreigners are exotic and something to be ogled like a shiny new watch.  While this is definitely preferable to being persecuted, shunned or hated, and I am in no way bemoaning- merely observing, it is exhausting to have the knowledge that you aren’t different where you come from, but merely perceived as different where you are.  Another one of my students told me that he wanted to marry a Russian woman or a Canadian woman (an odd comparison) because they are beautiful and Turkish women talk too much.  Didn’t really know how to respond to that one, except to tell him that actually he talked a lot and maybe Turkish women didn’t want to marry him.  When in doubt, joke.

           The next day I ran into Mustafa as I was waiting for the bus home.  A woman slowly got on the bus ahead of us with her small child, and to be fair, she was moving quite slowly.  Mustafa remarked, "Women are such a pain."  I was surprised but didn't say anything, and he continued, "They have such huge asses."

         I didn't really know how to respond, but he continued when we got on the bus, "The reason Turkish women have such huge asses," he continued, "Is because they do nothing all day but sit at home and watch TV."  This is big commentary from a man, who, when both times I have been to his house, sits on his ass and allows his wife to cook and clean and make tea and coffee and roll the cigarettes for him to smoke.  I was especially surprised as Mustafa is usually quite a philospher, and for him to stereotype all Turkish women in this manner was not something I expected.  I quipped back about the fact that it is actually more common that I see Turkish men sitting around smoking in the cafes all day, rather than the women and then quickly changed the subject to safer waters.  

It has been an interesting weekend in terms of trying to compare my views of sexism and culture between various places, and while it is true that the staring is not nearly as normal in Malatya as it was in Jakarta (and again to counter, white men were ogled perhaps not as much, but still fairly often in Jakarta) and even worse when I lived in Albania, Malatya doesn’t have as obvious problems with sexism as Indonesia did.  It is more subtle, more in the way you might expect of Vancouver, although nowhere near as high in the index of women’s rights.  It is interesting to hear these comments from time to time because although they tend to make me laugh, I also realize the danger that approaches my way of thinking.  Only Eser showed up to my Friday class, so rather than sit in the classroom we went for a beer, but I said I would only go if I was paying (he paid last time), he hesitated- clearly unhappy with this, but eventually relented to letting me buy one round.  He wants to get Joe and Ilker and a few others together next week for beers, and my first thought was Oh good.  It will be much easier to get him to let Joe pay then to let me pay.  

A Week of (Semi) Solitude

                It has been an alone week, yet not lonely.  Sadly, Joe’s aunt passed away so he went back to the UK for the funeral this week to be with family leaving little ‘ol me all by myself for a week.  Now, I have never minded some good old fashioned alone time, so I caught up on some of my TV shows and films, cooked soup I didn’t think Joe would like and taught extra classes (6 days in a row to cover Joe’s classes), thus keeping myself decently busy.  Kubra and Ali let me come early on Thursday so I didn’t have to cancel (which was lucky as I greatly look forward to visiting them) and ironically when I arrived there were big tents outside their building.  Using my handy dictionary to translate, it turned out they were condolence tents, and when I asked Ali about them it turns out that someone had died, and whenever someone dies in Turkey, people do not gather in the houses (apparently due to lack of room) but rather in these tents which stay up for three days.  They were big and army looking, but I felt that it would be rude to take a photo of people’s grief, but they caused much room for discussion.  People in Turkey- and Indonesia- I figure it is a Muslim thing, are buried very quickly after the death (the day of or the day after) and they were very surprised that we take so long to have the funeral.  Kubra invited me to stay with them while Joe was away (a woman living alone in Malatya is not normal) and although I was touched by her kindness, I declined, promising to call if there was an emergency. 

Red lentil, spinach and tomato soup

                 Covering Joe’s classes turned out to be a lot of fun.  He has a speaking class during the week and my topics were Women’s Rights (something Turkey is not famed for) and Family Relationships- both topics that interest me, and that have generated a lot of discussion in Turkey lately (particularily women’s rights, after the senseless murder of the young girl that I mentioned last week) and which were fascinating to hear other people’s opinions on.  It was nice to have intelligent conversations again, although I didn’t do much talking other than to prompt them.

                The gym was relaxing as well as I stopped for tea with one of my students who works at the Thrifty rent-a-car inside the hotel and think that I have wrangled my parents a free ride from the airport when they arrive in three weeks.  This same student sometimes brings her five year old son to class, and he came on Friday.  She kept apologizing profusely, but he is sweet and as well-behaved as you can expect a five year old to be in a two hour English class.  I let him play with some paper clips and he drew me a picture and then gave me a big hug as he left- little cutie.  Another of my students was going to Yakinkent (where I live) that night, so he gave me a ride, picking up his friend on the way.  He invited me along to the party, but I was tired with a nagging headache, and the thought of making small talk in Turkish for two hours wasn’t overly appealing, so again, although touched, I declined.

My picture, now adorning the fridge.

                The weekend passed by in a blur of classes- again covering Joe’s kept me quite busy- but with the help of Wakas (who runs the canteen) I managed to sort out the movie for the cinema club, and the speaking clubs on Sunday were a lot of fun.  However I cringed inwardly when I asked my children's speaking club what China is famous for, and they pulled on the sides of their eyes to make them "squinty."- really wish I could explain to them about racial issues but as they don't ever see them in Malatya, they don't understand that what they are doing is offensive.  There is one boy who comes, he is fifteen and very eager to learn English, and my student from Friday was there so we had a lot of fun.  Eser (Friday student) asked if I wanted to grab a beer after class, so we headed to the pub and had a couple drinks before he drove me home.  It is amazing the effect of alcohol on someone’s ability to speak a new language (I had Quebec flashbacks from when I was learning French) and so with the occasional aid of google translate, conversation was not a problem.

                Joe arrived home this morning, safe, sound and exhausted,- without the bacon sandwich he promised he was bringing me from the airport because apparently he was "joking".  Worst and most disappointing joke ever, might I add,  and now begins real life again, preparing for my parents visit and time with Emily and Jason shortly after.  If February went by quickly, March will simply fly by!