I rode the Turkish minibus for the first time by myself - OK, I find them intimidating. Anyone in their right mind would. Hey, at least I rode in the front (OK, so the driver told me to sit up there because he was feeling helpful). Such is the life of a foreigner - a very fine line between the joy of freedom and independence and occasional total dependance on others. One minute you feel like Indiana Jones, the next minute you're a helpless infant.

Anyway, while bouncing around up front, I hear the driver talking on his cell phone (while counting money and negotiating some of the world's meanest traffic with a bus filled with people) ordering food. I assumed he was making a call to the garage, but after a few blocks, he suddenly stopped the bus. Then a man from a small stand ran across five lanes of traffic to bring him his sandwich.

Lunch service in Turkey is truly heroic.

Moving

(this is not where I'm staying)












To move or not to move? For that question, there is no choice... I simply can't stay here no matter how comfortable it is. For one thing, this is someone else's bedroom. Whatever the sleeping arrangements are when there are no guests in the house, someone probably wants to sleep in the bed I'm occupying.

Also, wherever I go, I hope it is quieter than this place. Even a relatively lazy street like ours is filled with noise.

The night before last, we were ready to leave at a moment's notice. My bags were packed and we collected a list of phone numbers for a new apartment. Last night, there was talk about having me paint the kitchen (my wife said that I love painting) and I had to unpack part of my suitcase to have clothes today. This is getting silly. We need to go.

Some Photos

This is a Tofaş Şahin, a typical Turkish car. These things are everywhere. They're relatively cheap, so it's the kind of car kids might trick out with rims, neon lights, and Cadillac emblems, then drive around playing obnoxious club music. Despite this and the fact that I'm going to get tired of seeing them around, and that driving in Turkey is a dangerous pain in the ass, and that if I owned a car, it would get banged up in no time at all, I want one of these things in the worst way.





This is the view from our roof... by all accounts, it's a pretty busted up part of town, but I love it. It's charming. It's starting to feel like home.

Nine Days in Turkey

I've only been here nine days? During that time, I've probably learned four whole words. Learning a new language is not easy, and not many people here speak English.
Soon, my wife isn't going to be around to translate for me, so it's definitely time to step up and start actively learning to speak Turkish. In Japan, it's possible for a foreigner to function without having to learn the language, but in Turkey the bureaucracy is too thick, the city too hectic. There is a feeling that you have to be "on" at all times when you're out and moving around.

In other news, Bilgi University throws a nice party. Armağan's graduation ceremony was followed by a cocktail party that was held in a very beautiful space that used to house an old factory. Whether the campus was beautiful or ugly was something that we didn't agree on (I liked the old factory buildings), but the view of the city rising up around it gave it a feeling of being at the heart of things, of serving a necessary function. I was immediately envious and wished I had gone to University there.

Today's mission: learn to use the tramway.

Sounds

At night, the relative silence of the city is broken by the sound of dueling ezan – the prayer announcements from the loudspeakers of the local mosques. I like them. The speakers give a little crackle and the muezzin gives their most beautiful call, trying to stand out from the others. I tried to look at a mosque during prayer yesterday, but the doorman gave me stinkeye because I looked like such a tourist.

The first sound of the morning is hammering. Downstairs there is a recycler who breaks up old appliances with a hammer to get the metal. He does his work out on the sidewalk. We’re away from the main street, so our street doesn’t see too many cars. There are a lot of voices and kids playing outside. The number of people goes up until at night, streets are filled with men, women, and children wandering around. Anytime you need something from the store, just call to one of them and throw some money down and they will get it for you. Little convenience stores are everywhere, along with bread shops and internet cafes, and an assortment of other types of businesses, including restaurants and “secret” shops that sell pirated DVDs.

The money isn’t as much of a problem as it was eight years ago, the last time I was here. The old Turkish currency was counted in millions and tens of millions for purchasing small items. That was just too much for anyone to get their head around, which was probably good for rip-off artists. Now the money is easy; 1.60 TL is equal to about a dollar. For convenience’s sake, I think of 1TL as a dollar.

Today, starting in the morning until late at night, their was rhythmic hammering, like steel on concrete. I don't know what they were doing for 8 - 10 hours, but it sounded like they pounded down every last wall.

6/22/10 - Some kind of hard medicine

The nagging urge that had been bothering me for years, the urge to get on a plane and jump off the face of the earth since leaving Japan, suddenly disappeared the minute I passed throught the first security gates at Detroit Metro. It's exciting and frightening. No going back. Buy the ticket, take the ride. Afterall, I asked for this.

The energy in the terminal is distinctly different from anywhere else. Without a suitcase, anyone in this crowd looks like they could be in a shopping mall except for one key difference: Everyone here feels a purpose. It is the overly casual, bored faces that stand out.

Detroit to Amsterdam

A restless time in a cramped airplane seat - aching, itching, and squirming for eight or nine hours in a flying cattle car. I'm a zombie.

Pure fatigue keeps the nerves dull enough to kill any anxiety I might have had about the trip - sitting in the terminal I feel too fogged over to properly understand where I am.

I'm reading American Shaolin, by Matthew Polly, a perfect fish-out-of-water story that is particularly good to read while traveling.

Packed and Ready

There's not a lot left to do - just a couple of fussy details to take care of so there won't be any problems with checking in at the airport or getting through security.

Once I arrive in Turkey there'll be a couple of bureaucratic hoops to jump through before I can start working, and we need to figure out once and for all what Nilu is going to do about her school.

Thoughts?

None right now. Dogs know instinctively when they're about to go to the vet, but most of my head is too thick to process the fact that I'm going somewhere for a long time. The ticket, the passport, these bags, and people hugging me to say goodbye should be enough to help me realize that I've already spent my last night here in Michigan, but it still feels very unreal. Twelve hours from now, I'll be in the air. In less than 36 hours I'll be in the heart of one of the world's biggest cities, jetlagged and disoriented.