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!

A Presidential Visit

         Spring is in the air!  Or, it was.  Last week the weather became sunny and crisp, with that nip in the air and the smell of freshness everywhere.  It was invigorating.  I began my spring cleaning (scrubbing my floors, etc.) when spring betrayed me, only a false alarm.  Winter returned, with below freezing temperatures and snow to boot!  Apparently this is a good thing, as summer tends to get quite hot here and the longer the winter lasts, the more bearable it is, but to be honest, I was ready for a change of season.

Fresh snow on the mountains

                One of these snowfalls occurred last night as I was getting ready for my class.  Although giant posters had been up all over town, and I knew some event was occurring, I was unsure of what it was until my students informed me that the President of Turkey (Erdogan) was to give a speech in Malatya the following day.  Now, although I do not know much about Erdogan, I know enough to know that we would not be friends and that he is a power hungry man who is trying to change the Turkish parliamentary system to give him more powers.  That attached to his views on women and the fact that he imprisoned a 16 year old for criticizing him, makes me feel like I have enough information not to think he is a fantastic leader, but alas.  

           The snow was still falling as I left work and headed to the bus stop.  The problem was that that were in the process of setting up for the President’s speech, so my bus was taking a different route and I didn’t know where that was.  This meant that I ended up walking 3km out of the city centre to where I figured the bus would stop.  Normally I don’t mind walking three kilometers, but at the end of the day, in snow, negative temperatures and heeled boots (which I would not have worn had I known I would be walking) it is not my idea of a good time.  I finally made it to the bus stop just as the President’s motorcade was coming in from the airport, meaning they shut the road for a good twenty minutes so he could get through, and again, waiting in the cold and snow (without my toque which I had forgotten) was not ideal.  It ended up taking me an hour and a half to get home, and I took off my boots in the elevator and walked in my socks to the apartment.

                The next day, I had a rough idea of where the bus would go, but left a little early just in case, and ended up behind the big mosque in the centre, instead of in front of it, but that wasn’t too bad.  Even though it was early, the city was a buzz in preparations, red and white balloons, and giant banners of Erdogan were everywhere.  I made it through my first four classes before the celebrations got under way, and then ran upstairs to the balcony to watch (snipers on the roof tops) as an old folk song that had been redone to chant his name blasted throughout the city (the whole thing felt very cult-ish) and watched as the President began his speech before my next class started. 

Snipers on the roof!

Giant banners adorned the streets.

                This following a week of protests after a young university student was murdered on her way home from school in Mersin (she was brutally attacked on a mini bus after fending off her rapist with pepper spray) has made for an interesting week of street viewing in Malatya.

Doctors and Beers

                Tuesday chalks up to one of the strangest days I have ever experienced whilst living overseas.  It all began a couple of Thursdays ago when I noticed a painfully sore throat emerging on my way home from visiting Buglem.  I brushed it off, took some medicine and went to bed.  However the sore throat quickly developed into a chest tightness, and hacking up (I wouldn't say coughing because it wasn't a consistent thing) disgusting coloured mucus from deep in my throat/lungs are somewhere of the like.  I managed to brave the pharmacy to pick up some medicinal cough drops (which you can only buy from pharmacies here, which is a titch annoying as they are closed on the weekend) and heating up raki (to numb the throat pain, and quite possibly kill all the bacteria living there- that stuff is potent) however with the pain keeping me awake at night, and more rusty blood coloured stuff starting to appear with my hacking, I decided to swallow my pride and ask someone to take me to the doctor.

              

             The second weekend of a lack of sleep found me asking Onder about the medical plan to see how much money this outing would cost me.  It turns out that since our papers are still being processed (another rant for another day) the school was going to have to front the bill (an added bonus after the unforeseen addition of the winter heating bills the school is making us pay despite the fact that it is not written in the contract- again, another rant) which quite pleased me.  He told me to go and then bring them the bill.  Now Onder is a bit clueless, so I gently reminded him that while I have made significant advances with my Turkish, navigating a doctor’s office and knowing the word for ‘phlegm’ and such are not yet in my vernacular.  To which (after his unnecessary display of surprise) he said that either he, Yasar or Gungor would take me. 

              

              I had a guess that Gungor would be the one slotted for this duty (as one is a bit awkward and the other has a tendency to be an ass) and so I was not surprised when I got a message saying that Gungor would pick me up at 3:30pm on Tuesday and take me to the **hospital (don’t worry- Turkish people always go to the hospital for everything.  It sounds serious but is the equivalent of a mere doctor’s visit)  Anyways, he picked me up and said we had two options- we could go to his family doctor (and a friend of his) or we could go to the big hospital, although that would take longer. Since I was already feeling guilty about taking up his afternoon we went to see his family doctor (who is located a stone’s throw from my house- I didn't even know there was a doctor’s office there).  We went in and made small talk, Gungor translated my symptoms for me, she checked my throat and my lungs and determined that my throat was infected but because of the blood, she wanted to send me to the specialist, so (apologizing profusely for the inconvenience) we headed to the hospital.

               

            Now Malatya is full of hospitals (seriously a ridiculous amount of hospitals) both public and private- but Gungor knows someone who works in admissions at the new big one, so off we went.  We met his friend and chatted with him and his wife (naturally) and then this man ferried us around the hospital (which was good because it was big) to this desk, and that desk until we found where we were going.  We finally registered me (which I have a feeling went most faster than it should have due to our guide) and then they stuck a needle in my arm to take blood (routine), but what was odd was that after they finished the blood test, they left the needle taped in my arm- in case they needed to do more later (spoiler alert: they didn't) and then sent me for a lung x-ray (again- spoiler alert: everything was normal) and then sent us away for two hours (still with a needle in my arm).  Gungor asked what I wanted to do, and jokingly, I suggested the pub, and then in all seriousness I said he could go home, and I would stay and read.  It was already getting quite late and I was feeling guilty.  He shrugged off both of my suggestions and instead called one of his friends.

               

             Gungor’s favourite way of drinking is to have a friend drive slowly around Malatya and the surrounding villages while he drinks.  On this particular outing, I tagged along.  (Joe was very jealous he didn't come to the hospital with me.)  We picked up his friend and some beers (at first I was supposed to only be allowed one, but after the first one he caved and gave me more) and we laughed and talked from books to religion to travel, driving 40km/hr around the city for two hours.  Two hours later (a little drunk) we headed back to the hospital to get the results- and if there is ever a way to not worry about test results it is to drink a few beers while you are waiting- and found the doctor to take the needle out of my arm.  Since everything was normal except for my raw throat, they told me I had a throat infection, and would need some antibiotics.  Gungor bought be a ‘celebratory beer’, which I gave most of to Joe in exchange for him cooking me an egg sandwich.  All in all an interesting outing- unfortunately there is no photographic evidence of this strange day, but alas.   All’s well that ends well.

A Rare Dinner Party

             There have been precious few times in the past couple of months where I have wished that Joe and I had working cell phones.  Usually the internet is sufficient enough that online communication is simple and as there are no dire circumstances that arise, imminent communication is rarely an issue.  However, Saturday night was one of those nights where a working cell phone would have come in extremely handy.

               

            Last week at coffee, we got to talking about English TV shows, and Mustafa was saying that he had a desire to watch the Wire. Since it is complete on my harddrive- along with a plethora of other English movies and shows- we offered to have him over and he could take whatever he wanted.  Since his wife works and he has to be around when his daughter gets home, he said that it would be easier if we came by his house.  I messaged him on Saturday morning and said we would stop by after we had eaten if that fit his schedule.  He vehemently protested this saying that we would eat at his house (it’s much easier to cave sometimes) and so I agreed.  I made it home after a long day, had a quick shower and then tried to finalize our plans, as there had been a slight miscommunication about what time Joe finished work and what time we were supposed to be at his house.  While I quickly downed a beer (which thank God was in the fridge) and messaged back and forth between Joe and Mustafa, our internet decided to crash.  This as I was waiting for a response from Joe and trying to get back to Mustafa, stressing me out and making me even more grateful for the aforementioned beer.  I managed to reset it, sent Joe a frantic message telling me to meet him at Mustafa’s (praying he would get it in time) and set out (leaving a note on the door just in case).  The lahmajun place closed at 7pm, and I only had a hunch as to what time Joe should be arriving in front of the building.  After saying a quick hello to his wife and daughter, and discussing how best to figure everything out, we decided that I would go wait at the bus stop and hope Joe saw me, and that Mustafa would go to the lahmajun place, and hopefully everything would work out.  To put an extremely stressful twenty minutes to an anticlimactic finish, Joe spotted me at the bus station, Mustafa got the food before it closed and we were happily warm inside his house not long after.    

              

             Joe had a pillow/toque fight with Mustafa’s seven year old daughter (her shrieking with laughter) and Mustafa and I occasionally taking part, while his wife got dinner together in the kitchen.  It feels very awkward not to help, and is a cultural norm I am definitely not used to yet.  We sat down to a delicious dinner and then after Sibel cleaned up (again I was not allowed to help and my Turkish is not good enough to insist) and a disgusting dessert of rice pudding (Turkish style) which I ate all of to be polite, we sat down to tea and Joe and I taught them how to play Yahtzee.  It was more difficult to explain than we would have imagined, but Mustafa tends to over-complicate things and they were sort of getting it by the end of the second game.  We spent the following hour telling Mustafa which shows to download, and watching clips of his favourite films (a process which was drawn out considerably longer than I would have liked) before heading home to bed in anticipation of another long day (for me at least) on Sunday.