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Published: February 20th 2012
It's been a quiet, happy winter--often sunny but also COLD, Antalya's coldest winter in thirty years. Without insulation, double-glazed windows, or central heating in our building, we've been warmed mostly by the smartwool and down clothing we brought with us. I have been known to sleep in my winter jacket, muffler and gloves. We do have wall-mounted heat pumps ("klimas") in three rooms, but two of them--as well as the hot water heater--have been on the friitz quite a bit. In defense, we joined a health club in January, partly for the reliable access to hot showers!
To stay warm during the day, we heat one smallish room and use it for everything. We study there, hover with guests, and eat in a corner of windows which has a view of the sea-- now that the city government has obligingly knocked down the buildings that previously blocked our seaview. Between us and the sea is a parking lot that teems with the neighborhood's ownerless pets: a few dozen cats, a handful of dogs, and (our current favorite), a scrawny black chicken we have named "Tavuk Tavuk." We listen for her proud, earsplitting announcements whenever she lays an egg, and snicker
as she races across the pavement. I'm not sure what it means about our shared mental state, but this goofy menagerie entertains us daily, especially at breakfast.
Since it's our second winter here, we're feeling quite settled. Our weeks spin along with Saturday (professional) basketball games, weekly trips to the huge outdoor market, Wednesday nights hovering with friends around a fire at our neighborhood bistro, and Friday nights at the symphony. We still host monthly book club gatherings--when our flat is warm enough--and our Turkish lessons continue three days a week. When the sun is bright, we love heading to the beach or the seaside park, usually with a friend or two. And we never lack for suspense or adventure, because at least one appliance is always broken!
In these last months in Turkey, we're also trying to squeeze in as much regional traveling as possible, so we've taken two winter trips--one to the Aegean peninsula of Bodrum and the second to the island of Cyprus, both the Turkish and the Greek parts. We'll let the photos tell both stories.
As we begin to wind up this two-year adventure, we've entered a noticeably different stage in our
Menagerie of ownerless pets
We hear from this hen every morning when she lays an eggrelationship with Turkey. Our lives are calmer now, without so many surprises. But knowing that we'll soon be leaving this place makes us savor its pleasures even more consciously. The fresh pear I had with breakfast this morning was
enormously satisfying. And after a few days of rain, to hang a load of clothes to dry in the sunshine is an intense pleasure. (I mean it!) Bill returns from the wonderful outdoor market with news of what's come back in season (strawberries now!) and of the conversations he's had with the vendors he visits each week. Of course, the sea changes in different light, humidity, wind and temperature, and each morning we push back the curtains to see... perhaps a fog bank, perhaps glistening turquoise waters with three-dimensional mountains looming above.
But our current relationship with Turkey has a darker side too. Have you heard the British slang word "grizzling"? It means griping, finding fault. Maybe we're unconsciously easing the inevitable sorrow of ending this magical time, or maybe it's some kind of cultural fatigue. But we both find ourselves grizzling more than before. Some cultural behaviors or political realities that seemed charming or fascinating 20 months ago now
Ayyas- Our local bistro
We meet friends here every Wednesday evening for conversation, drinks and live music simply make us weary--or wary.
We grizzle about Turks' apparent lack of concern about the broader community, the folks outside their inner circle. When we are known to a Turk--as a customer, a neighbor, a friend, a colleague, or a teacher, for instance--we become part of the inner circle, the extended family. As such, we are treated with a dazzling amount of respect, affection and generosity. It's wonderful!
But when we are anonymous, watch out! Be prepared to be pushed out of the way, interrupted in the middle of a transaction, or elbowed to the back of the checkout line. If we're foolish enough to be pedestrians in this world that allocates status by the size of one's vehicle, we'll be used as target practice by manical motorists and motorcyclists. Last week, I was walking on a broad sidewalk when a car jumped the curb, came up behind me, and the woman driver honked harshly, demanding that I flatten myself against a wall so she could pass me on the sidewalk. She had been driving on the tram tracks--a common practice--and when the tram appeared, she just steered onto the sidewalk. A broad avenue for cars was
The Glutton
The Antalya street sweeper..seems distracted by the redhead. on the other side, but it went only one way--not the direction this driver had in mind.
The same attitude results in a great deal of unconscious littering. To combat the mess, the city hires an army of streetcleaners wielding giant electric trash-sucking machines called "Gluttons." They keep up with the public areas pretty well, but areas like the vacant lot beside our apartment building are neglected. The garbage that passing folks toss there (which currently includes a rain-soaked mattress) becomes a smelly eysore, and the Gluttons never come near.
We grizzle about the Turkish national government. We read at least one Turkish paper a day (in English), taking care to get a different bias on alternate days. We conclude that the much-heralded government of Turkey seems to be lurching from one major crisis to the next, jailing journalists and other "enemies" on impulse and without arraignment, and backing away from human rights for women, Kurds, and religious minorities. The long-promised new Constitution--so desperately needed to provide a blueprint for this struggling nation--seems to be stalled in conflict. The ruling party, which has a moderate Islamist bent, is dismantling the secular policies put into place by Ataturk 90
Sign: Allah Protect Us
This prayer seems to substitute for safe driving years ago and is beginning to talk about new practices in the public schools that will shape a new generation of "pious" (Islamic-focused) youth. In our view, things have deteriorated substantially during the 21 months we have been here.
(Of course, we are also alarmed about the ongoing performance of the U.S. Congress and look forward to working toward a repeal of the Supreme Court ruling on campaign finance that treats corporations as individuals.)
We grizzle about practices that threaten public health and safety. Turks have very different beliefs about what is dangerous. They believe, for example, that one can be made seriously ill by sweating and not immediately changing clothes. And going outside with wet hair, even on a hot day, is considered a serious health risk. Yet chain smoking is widespread and most people don't use seatbelts, even for children. The streets of Antalya are choked with maniacal drivers in traffic that includes unhelmeted 14-year-olds riding motorcyles with infants on their laps! Almost every long-term visitor to Turkey has a traffic tale that includes the phrase, "I really thought I wasn't going to get home alive!" Maybe there's something deeply cultural in the difference in driving
Smoke from coal heating
The combined effect of 1000's of these reduces sunlight and fouls the air habits here, a difference that is signaled by the signs on the back of trucks: in the U.S. the back-bumper message is "Drive Safely." In Turkey, it is "Allah Korusun" ("Allah Protect Us!")
Perhaps my biggest health-related gripe this winter is the dense coal smoke. Yes, in a region in which housing could so easily have been designed for (ultimately) cheap, passive solar heat, most people heat their rooms with coal stoves. That gorgeous reliable sun just goes to waste. On cold nights when there is an inversion over Antalya, the coal smoke is thick and nasty, and my eyes start smarting, even inside. Our friends with asthma just can't go out at all!
Well, all of you who have traveled or lived in the developing world will find these stories commonplace. There's nothing really new or shocking about any of it. But somehow our tolerance is waning. A year ago we were fascinated and amused by all the incongruities; no inconvenience was really annoying for long. That's less true now.
But enough grizzling! We want to close with a favorite (and upbeat) story from this winter. Here goes... One Wednesday, Bill and I took the number
Konyalti Beach
Even in Winter it's nice to wander here 8 bus, as usual, to reach the huge open air market where we get our weekly produce. The bus driver was particularly friendly, spoke warmly to us, and even beeped a farewell when we got off at the market. But at the market, I immediately realized I had left my wallet on the bus. Bill stayed to do the marketing, and I ran back to the bus stop, knowing that the dozen or so number 8 buses run in a huge loop and would all return eventually. They come frequently, every 8 - 10 minutes, and each time a #8 came, I hopped on to ask in my best schoolgirl Turkish if the driver had found my wallet. After two hours, I'd had no luck. Bill and I went home to cancel the credit cards.
Then my cellphone rang. It was our New Zealand friend, Dave with a welcome message: "Hey, Carol. Some bus driver named Levent just called me. He has your wallet. I hope it's okay that I gave him your phone number!" Huh?, I thought. Why would the bus driver know to call Dave? But Dave said I needed to leave the phone free for the
Our new view of the Sea
The City tore down some buildings and....voila! driver, so we hung up without an explanation.
The next call came immediately. "Is this Carol Roach? I am Levent, your bus driver. Listen-- I have your wallet, and I want to get it back to you. I'm still driving my route. Can you get back to the stop where I let you off in 20 minutes? That's when I'll be there again." I said we'd be there, and we raced to the bus stop near our home. But the #8 we caught this time got stuck in traffic, and the minutes spun by while the bus barely moved. My cellphone rang again. "Carol--it's Levent, the bus driver. Where are you? I'm waiting with a whole load of passengers. You've got to get here fast! I'll get fined if I wait any longer. Hurry, please!" Just then the bus we were riding rounded a corner and we were back where Levent has let us off. There across four lanes of maniacal Turkish traffic was Levent, weaving among vehicles with the wallet in his hand. Behind him, the passengers in his crowded bus has obviously been told about the reason for the delay. They were all glued to their windows,
Breakfast bounty
We savor the freshness of local produce and some of them were grinning and waving at us. While his passengers waited, Levent asked me to count to be sure all the money was there, lectured me good naturedly about not having my cellphone number in the wallet (he was right, of course), then dashed back to his bus.
On the way home, Bill and I stopped for a celebratory tea and called Dave to untangle the mystery. Levent had remembered that we got on his bus not far from the travel agency of his sister, Zeyneb. When a passenger returned the wallet to him, he called his sister. Zeyneb didn't know us, but she's a neighbor of a couple "yabancis" (foreigners)--so she called them. They turned out to be our best friends here, Annie and Dave, who gave him the phone number. We stopped to buy a fancy box of chocolates as a thank you for Levent (money isn't a culturally acceptable way to say thanks here) and headed toward the travel agency to drop it off.
Then the phone rang again. Levent said, "Carol, I made a big mistake. I took your credit card out of your wallet to get your name when I
called my sister. But I was driving the bus and forgot to return it to the wallet. I still have it. How can I return it to you?" He said he was off duty and having tea outside Hadrian's Gate, a big Roman landmark not far from our flat. I grabbed the candy and took off running. There was Levent, laughing and calm. We embraced like old friends, traded chocolates for credit card, and began walking down the wide avenue together. I kept telling him what a good man he was, and he kept smilling.
Then, Levent got a little serious and stopped. What he told me stunned me. "You know, Carol, when you and your husband got on the bus this morning, I recognized him. I remembered that a long time ago--summer 2010, I think---I accidentally caused you a big problem." Levent went on to tell his side of a story I remembered well. A few weeks after arriving in Turkey, we had purchased tickets to the opera Carmen, which was being staged outdoors at the Roman theatre Aspendos (built in 2nd Century A.D.). We had bought them through a travel agent--Levent's sister Zeyneb, as it turned out,
but we didn't know her, of course. The price of the tickets included reserved transportation by minivan out to the theatre, some 40 minutes away. With our friend Gloria, we were waiting as instructed in front of our hotel when a young Turkish man ran up, asked if we were going to Aspendos, and put us on the minibus he was driving. Of course, it was Levent, doing a little free-lance driving for his sister. But, as we later learned, Levent's bus was not the bus linked to our tickets. When we got to Aspendos, there was a long, infuriating delay because of the mixup. We were not allowed to enter the theatre for a long time, and we nearly missed the beginning of the performance.
Eighteen months later, Levent remembered the incident, still felt guilty and said that his sister had not forgiven him for being irresponsible. Returning my wallet, he said, was a great pleasure because had been able to do a kindness to folks he had inconvenienced. He called it "balancing the mistake". Levent gave us more than the wallet of course. He gave us heightened respect for the human decency of strangers. And he gave
us an unforgettable story!
In the next few months, we'll be traveling to a few more yet unexplored spots with wonderful friends who will be visiting. Then, in mid-May we'll dismantle our flat, hold a massive sale, and wrap up this extraordinary interval in Turkey on May 30. We'll travel in Europe during June and arrive in Seattle July 2.
As always, we send sincere thanks to our readers. It means more than you can imagine to know you are out there, and--despite the demands of your own rich lives--you are following ours! If you enjoy photos, scroll down to check out several pages of captioned photos that follow the end of the text.
Wishing you a marvelous spring ahead!!
Affectionately, Carol and Bill
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Mary Meyer
non-member comment
Bittersweet
Your story is so interesting. I think it's great that you have stayed long enough that you can actually balance the good and bad aspects of the place. I've been very concerned about the direction Turkey seems to be heading and our foreign policies don't seem to be helpful in that part of the world. At the same time, the lovely experiences with the people you've met and the places you've been are nourishment of an incalcuable sort. You undoubtedly will have the same reentry problems here - maybe you should blog on that as well for you will certainly see home in a new light as well and your reflections would be insightful for all of us. Thanks as always for sharing this wonderful experience with us.