Kurdish Hospitality -- Istanbul, Turkey

The yoga retreat in Montenegro fell through. The owners didn't have enough space to host me during the busy month of June, so had to rescind their offer of a placement on Lake Skadar. I'm disappointed that the opportunity didn't work out, but I'm pleased to announce that I'm not entirely devastated. At the beginning of this trip, a letdown such as this would have instigated at least a week of sullen depression and "I have no control over my life, I hate everything, now leave me alone please and let me sulk." I would have felt defeated and discouraged. However, after seven months of life not going according to plan, my reaction has evolved into a simple, "Oof. That's too bad, but something else is bound to happen. Guess this is just an opportunity to look for another interesting experience."

I love what travel does to me. I have never been forced to confront so many insecurities and fears.

The fear of, "where will I sleep?"

The fear of, "how will I eat?"

The fear of, "will they like me?" (which is just as worrisome as the fear of, "how will I eat?", believe it or not)

The fear of, "will they be good to me?" and "will they treat me fairly?" and "what will I do if things go to hell in a handbasket?" 

My time in Istanbul is providing me with the opportunity to confront the poisonous insecurity of "will they like me?" nearly every day. Each new class feels like an audition or a job interview -- one that isn't decided on my skill level, but on my sociability/friendliness level (which feels far more personal, for some reason). This work isn't nearly as simple as uprooting a stubborn Irish parsnip -- it's learning how to communicate with complete strangers all with different levels of English. It's also walking the line between not taking it personally when lessons go horribly wrong and still asking myself, "what can I do better next week?"

This was one of my better weeks.  Friday was spent with airport guys where I taught them how to play "Go Fish" and showed an assortment of pictures from my previous adventures.

"This is what they have for breakfast in Italy," I swiped to a picture of a cappuccino Laura had made for me during my stay in Taglio di Po. "And this is what they have for breakfast in Ireland," I swiped my fingers across the laptop again and displayed a gorgeous, greasy image of bacon, sausage, eggs, beans and potatoes.

They all became quite proficient at asking, "Do you have a -- ?" and answering, "No, I don't have a --. Go fish." Also, they have developed greater appreciation for Turkish breakfasts.

Umit called me after the lesson had finished to let me know that Dilara's ski trip had been canceled (due to lack of snow) and that we would meet on Saturday, after all. 

Fantastic. 

Cesim offered to make me a traditional Turkish breakfast the next morning (in Turkish time, morning is after eleven), but I did my best to decline; I knew that Dilara's mother would have a mouthwatering lunch waiting for me, and I wanted to save as much space as possible.

But Cesim is Kurdish, and it is nigh impossible to say "no, I'm not hungry" to a Kurdish person. The conversation sounds something like this:

"Thank-you so much, but I'm not hungry."

"Really? Have just a bite."

"I'm sorry, it looks incredible, but I'm so full. Stuffed. One more bite will make me explode," I puff out my belly to demonstrate just how fat I'm getting.

"But you are so thin!" the magnanimous Kurd counters.

"For the moment!" I laugh weakly. "But I'll need to buy an extra seat on the plane when I leave Istanbul if you all keep feeding me this much." 

"Are you sure you won't have some? It is traditional. This is special cheese from my hometown with herbs picked from the mountains. My mother grew the beans last summer and my sister put them in the freezer to keep them fresh for winter. The olives are from my brother's olive trees and -- "

"Okay! I'll have a bite. Just one, though. I can't possible eat more than..."

Oh my god... this is so good. Why is Kurdish food so good?

"Only one bite? Please, eat! Do you want coffee? Çay? Tahini? This tahini is organic and this -- "

It is about this point in the conversation when I just give up.

I'll have to practice a LOT of yoga tomorrow to combat my Turkish breakfast belly. *sigh* So many chaturangas.

I don't count calories. I'm not one for "Hail Marys". However, I do sometimes count chaturangas.

This breakfast equals about a thousand. 

Part of Cesim's breakfast.

I lumbered out the door (dolefully apologizing to my bloated belly for abusing it so) and made off for Dilara's apartment, listening to a reading of "No Exit" on my iPhone to mentally escape the cramped quarters of the metrobus. Which is amusing, as the entire play is about not being able to escape and the idea that "hell is other people". Which is kind of how the metrobus makes me feel.

This is one thing about Istanbul I will NOT miss. The pungent smell of armpits and the frantic, self-centered, "THAT'S MY SEAT" shoving in public transportation.

As anticipated, Dilara's mother made the most extraordinary lunch of Turkish rice, beef and mushroom stew, salad, pomegranate juice, beans and candied quince for dessert.

Oy.

We played cards, I gave a brief yoga lesson and helped Dilara finish her English homework. Then I asked her father to give me a ride back to the loathed metrobus where I stood shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, face to armpit with all the other Turks on their way home from work. 

A gluten-free cake made by Dilara's mom. Turkish/Kurdish women are phenomenal bakers.

A picture from my last outing with Dilara. We walked around the mall and found the Christmas display. Stingy Turkish Santa doesn't even leave coal in the stockings. Poor kids get nothing.

I arrived home at 6:00 pm on the dot. Slumping into Cesim's cozy couch, I checked my email on his iPad and tried to find some opportunities for June.

Is Albania safe? Bosnia? There aren't too many volunteer situations... Could I couchsurf? Perhaps I should just stay in Croatia at that art center near Solin... What about Serbia? Ah... I would LOVE to spend the month in Bucharest, but there is no way I can afford the plane ticket. I need something relatively close to Croatia that is outside of the Schengen Area. Things will work out. They always do.

Cesim had promised to take me out on Saturday night after I finished my lesson with Dilara. I assumed we'd drink a couple glasses of wine near Taksim, have a pleasant conversation and then return to his flat. I did not expect a marvelous evening of Turkish food, plentiful red wine and stellar Turkish music. But that's what I got.

The only hitch was that the music was verging on deafeningly loud. This made conversation nearly impossible (especially with the language barrier), so we were reduced to writing notes back and forth on my iPhone. I found this quirky and fun, but I think it was bothersome for Cesim. 

Kurdish people. When they have something, they share it. And they don't just share what they can do without -- they share the best of everything they have. I know it's a stereotype and I'm sure there are many exceptions to this rule, but I have yet to meet one of these exceptions.

Cesim and I drove back to Beylikduzu to join Umit and his family for Sunday breakfast (a meal that takes place around noon). I prepared a game for the other airport group and led the lesson at a small café near the beach at around 5:00.

"You are lucky," Cesim told me before I left. "Every day, you meet new people. Do new things. You are never bored. Your life is good."

"Yes. I know I'm lucky."