My "Work" in Istanbul -- Istanbul, Turkey

My work in Istanbul?

To speak English. To speak English slowly and with perfect, clear e-nun-ci-a-tioN. My diction professor in university would be so proud of me, had he eavesdropped on the conversation with Umit’s adult students Saturday night or with his teenage students today.

A nation devoid of art and artists cannot have a full existence. 

~Ataturk
 

My work in Istanbul?

To be friendly and engaging. To be interesting and interested (both can be enormously challenging). To spend many hours riding the double-decker bus 145T (Jessie, that Kindle might be the most thoughtful, useful gift anyone has ever given me). To be patient with mistakes and to know when and how to correct them so that confidence isn’t squashed and lessons are learned. To ask questions. To set people at ease and make them feel comfortable speaking English.

Maintaining this kind of alertness and energy is tiring, but it’s work that invigorates me in the end.

Today was drizzly and cold. Umit left for the city center at six and Seher drove to school at seven. I crept out of my room around seven thirty (aware that Öykü still slept and Ayse would prefer Öykü to stay sleeping), ate a quick breakfast of olives, tomatoes and cheese, laced up my boots and schlepped through the drizzle to my café.

The servers already know me. And what I like. I love this.

I worked on my blog, checked my email and slowly drank my salep, savoring each mouthful of the creamy orchid beverage.

Today was drizzly and cold and my first day out in the city with Umit’s students.

Weather, your timing is perfect. Also, you’re out to get me. I’m feeling indulgent today and I’d like to make-believe that you hate me. Thanks for the rain, jerk.

I quickly dropped off my laptop at my family’s flat, nabbed my Kindle and bustled to the bus stop.

145T. I’m going to be the QUEEN of public transportation after three months of this. Buses/trains/metros/trams will kowtow before my accomplished feet (which will no longer tremble at the very thought of riding them).

The journey took an hour and a half. I’d hoped to be able to glimpse the city, but the rain obscured everything from view except foggy silhouettes of skyscrapers.

Another time.

Four stops before mine, the screen in the double decker bus froze. As the stops outside don’t have names and people don’t press “stop” at all stops, I had no idea when to disembark 145T.

I’ll just ask. I can always ask. I rushed to the bottom level and showed my iPhone to a “minding my own business” Turk.

“Istanbul Tip Fakultesi?”

“Sonra,” she replied.

-later-

“tamam, tesekkur-ederim,” my American accent destroyed the rolled Turkish Rs.

-okay, thank-you-

But it was not later. The woman had misdirected me and I missed my stop. I called Umit on the volunteer phone and asked what to do.

Having a phone makes life unbelievably simple.

“You have -- two stops -- far. What is -- front of you?”

“I can’t hear... Ach! The traffic is so loud. One moment,” I hurried to the other side of the stop, phone pressed against my right ear and fingers pressed into my left. “Yeah, I see a hotel!”

“Good, turn left. The hotel should be on your right. Just keep walking along this road and I’ll wait for you at the second stop.”

Bourget... why have you traveled without a phone for this long?

I met Umit and his five students in front of the Istanbul Tip Fakultesi stop near the highschool at which he teaches English. Introductions were made (only one name was easy for me to pronounce) and we were sent off to explore the city.

“Aimee, take of them. Children, take care of Aimee,” Umit bid us goodbye.

“Have you lived in Istanbul your whole lives?”

“Yes.”

“So you’ll be excellent guides!”

“Yes,” the five children (some of whom were taller than me) smiled.

For the next three hours, we walked past famous mosques – 

through wet, deserted parks –

munched hot, roasted chestnuts – 

strategically licked Turkish candy –

carefully (it contains bread) ate iskender –

and watched the waves of the sea.

Turkish people seem to have a very special connection to the sea. Children are enraptured when they watch the waves.

One of the boys was afraid of animals. We laughed at him whenever one of the 100,000 Turkish dogs amiably approached. We laughed harder when a white rooster clucked past.

When I asked if they could go anywhere in the world, where would they go, the kids said they’d go nowhere. Except for the oldest boy. He’d like to visit India. I'm learning that even though Turkish people have moved to countries like Germany and Holland, most are very rooted.

The first part of one of the unpronounceable names sounded like “Nestle”  (the chocolate brand), so I decided to call the blushing girl “Chocolate.” I’m very creative.

I tried to bond with a slender, quiet girl over mutual love of horses, but I think that conversation fell through.

All the girls love Twilight and are on the Taylor Lautner team. This conversation did not fall through. Great is their passion for Taylor Lautner.

One of the boys dislikes Turkish music, but is fond of Metallica and Pink Floyd.

Here are some Turkish music suggestions from the others:

·      Gökhan Tepe (greatly recommended)

·      Sezen Aksu

·      Ajda Pekkan

·      Cem Adrian

·      Duman

All the children are fond of football (to put it mildly). This is the team I’m required to root for: 

Galatasaray

They also wrote out the Turkish alphabet for me:

I can’t pronounce any of the Turkish letters properly.

The bus ride home was 2 ½ hours. The screen was still broken (it looked as though I’d found myself on the exact same bus). My phone died. I had no idea which stop was mine, so I climbed to the bottom level and hassled the driver.

I made it home just fine. Felt like a champ.

Umit wasn’t home and Seher, Öykü and Ayse had already eaten dinner, so I set about warming up yesterday’s meal for myself. I opened the cabinet and rummaged about for a plate, but Öykü’s oddly shaped baby bowl/plate was resting balancing an oddly shaped serving tray atop the stack of plates, and my fumbling fingers created a catastrophe. A pretty piece of rose china crashed to the tea tray below, smashing itself and a Turkish coffee cup into bits. Seher interrupted the horrified expression sweeping across my face with, “Are you hurt? Everything is okay?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m so sorry, though.”

“If you are fine, than it is okay,” she smiled. “When things break, we say, “you have gotten rid of the evil eye.” And how else would I be able to buy new plates? No, as long as you are okay, everything is fine.”

What wonderful words. If I ever have things of my own, I’m going to use them myself.