Negative Nancy

I'm in one of those moods. Three days left before I head home, and all the things that drive me crazy about living in Turkey are really driving me around the bend! I think I'll just list them. Maybe getting them off my chest will relieve some of the pressure.

1. You have to use scissors to cut the saran wrap off the roll--not just once in awhile, but every single time.

2. Milk can only be purchased in 1 liter containers. And fresh milk is rare. One liter is only about 4 cups, so we are always going to the store for milk. I find myself lusting after the gallons I took for granted back home.

3. The only aluminum foil I have found is the weight of tissue paper.

4. Street cats....especially irksome while eating out, trying to mooch off your plate.

5. Middle aged, mustachioed cab drivers showing off their driving skills (or lack thereof)

6. People in London and Paris always wait for the passengers on the subway to get off, before they try to get on. People in Instanbul do not.

7. It's impossible to regulate the heat in our apartment. We either freeze or we roast. So now run the heat, but leave the windows open to cool off.

8. We ate lunch at fish restaurant on the Galata Bridge Saturday. The owner welcomed us with open arms, sat us, gave us water, then sent a waiter over to take our order. The waiter brought a huge platter of different raw fish to select from--and refused to give us the price of the fish till after we selected. Too late then to back out, I guess. I don't even want to tell you how much we paid for that meal.

9.  Cobblestones are picturesque, but hell to walk upon.

10. Trying to outlast, outtalk or outwit any Turkish salesman. It's not possible.

11. It's accepted practice here to crowd in front of someone else in line. And I'll be damned if I can do anything but glare, as I don't know enough Turkish to say anything. (Although, If Jim's with me, I don't have to worry about this one)

12. 24 hour clocks. Good Grief, what time is 20:15, anyway?

13. Celsius. Do I look forward to a day that is 14 degrees, or do I dread it? And don't even get me started on figuring out the oven temperatures.

14. Truth in Advertising is a real issue. My hand mixer is supposed to have 5 speeds. Maybe it does, but they are all the same speed. My favorite however, is the set of Christmas tree lights we just bought. Here's what the package said: "steady burning or blinking" (not true...they only blink, and do that errratically) "One goes out, rest stay lit" (not true, one goes out, they all go out) "Included spare bulb" (not true. No extra bulb was included) "Full size" (so not true) I can only surmise about the "energy saver" statement.

15. Policemen carry machine guns. Or at least, they look like machine guns. And they aren't nicely tucked away at their side either. I swear they keep their fingers on the trigger as they swagger down the street. I generally avoid making eye contact, but if I have to, I smile warmly, and hope that I remind them of their mothers.

It probably sounds like I hate it here. I really don't. I love Istanbul. But, there really is no place like home. And in 3 days, I'll be there. I can't wait.

Our social lives are picking up. Two weeks ago we attended the Marine Corps Ball with some friends. It was held at the Conrad, a swanky downtown hotel. Lot's of embassy personnel attended, along with the five marines whose duty it is to guard the American Consulate. (A huge, fortress entrenched along the Istinye hillside, not far from our flat)

I don't consider myself particularly patriotic, but there was a poignancy to to seeing the U.S. flag and hearing the national anthem so far away from home. I wanted to bop the guy next to me who chose to sit through the whole thing while the rest of us were standing with our hands on our hearts. I think he was Turkish, so probably felt he was exempt, but if I were in a similar situation, surrounded by Turks, you can bet I would be standing up.

Jim and Devlin ran from Asia to Europe with Boy Scouts 

This past Saturday was International Day at Devlin's school. It is the big PTA fundraiser, and an appropriate one. The cafeteria was filled with representatives from different countries, all selling home made foods. I was behind the American Food Booth, selling chili, so I didn't get around to many others, but I ate some great samosas and jasmine rice from Pakistan, while Jim lurked at Switzerland's table, enjoying the tortes and apple pies. I purchased several pairs of slippers, hand knitted by some women in a nearby village, using age old techniques and patterns. And you know you are in Europe when the PTA sells alcoholic beverages at a school function. What a great way to loosen the purse strings. Not surprisingly, I didn't see anyone under the influence.

Michel Charouk, Jim & I selling American baked goods

Saturday night brought our first party--or, should I say, soiree, as it was given by a French couple. It was a lovely affair. She had asked everyone to dress in red, in celebration of the color of the Turkish flag, our new home, so the crowd was colorful They even served Bloody Mary's and of course, red wine. It was a very international group; Swiss, French, German, Australian and even a few Americans. What is it that makes the French so elegant? Laure and her husband, Mattieu, were stylishly dressed, with a home that was decorated with good artwork and well chosen, unusual accessories. An assortment of delicious hors d'oevres were served continuously by an unobtrusive staff. Conversation was lively, (if sometimes difficult to understand). Later in the evening, music for dancing was played, and people actually danced. At one point, a few of us were outside talking, and Laure came out with furs for all of us to put on so we wouldn't be cold. They lived in Russia for awhile, and picked them up there. It's amazing how quickly you can warm up wearing an ermine wrap!

What is even more impressive, is that Laure, (who just arrived in August also) discovered a few weeks ago that she has breast cancer. I am awed by her attitude. I would still be in bed, weeping and wailing and feeling sorry for myself. She put on the party of the year! In fact, I got the invitation just as I had hit a low point, and was questioning why I had thought moving to Istanbul had been a good idea. When I compared our reactions to life's hardships, I was good and truly ashamed of myself, and snapped out my blue funk. It's easy to see who has it rough and who doesn't--and I sure don't.

Life can be moaned about or it can be celebrated. Laure has shown me the way I want to approach it--with grace, elegance and determination.

Getting Around

I have discovered the joy of taking public transportation. I am not being sarcastic, either! Up till now, I felt like a bird in a gilded cage. Ensconced in a lovely high rise apartment, within a short walk to one of the best shopping malls in the city, I sound churlish complaining about any part of my life. But learning to live without a car has been hard. I have access to Jim’s driver, if needed. But since Jim works an hour’s drive away, I am careful to not abuse the privilege.

Last week, when Emily was here, I realized that if we were to see everything on her list, we would have to explore alternative possibilities. She was more than game, and her enthusiasm gave me the courage I had hitherto lacked, so last Tuesday afternoon,we set off to find the nearest subway stop. Walking in this city is a little dicey. Imagine trying to walk along Westheimer at rush hour, only the sidewalks are half as wide and twice as close to the road, and you’ll get the general idea. Then imagine crossing Westheimer without the benefit of crosswalks. But we arrived, all body parts intact, and took a ride to Taksim square, which is a major subway interchange as well as bus hub. We scouted around the terminal a bit, in preparation for the next days big trip to the Spice Market, explored a bit of Taksim Square, then rode back home, proud of our accomplishments.

Lost, looking for the Grand Bazaar

The next day, Emily carefully charted our path. We took the subway to 4 Levent, changed to another line till we hit Taksim, took something called a funicular (a small box-like car that goes straight down a big tunnel and feels like a coffin) to Kabatas, then changed back to another subway line till we hit Emiminou, and got off. Pretty dang good for newbie foreigners, I thought. After exploring the Spice Market, we walked down to the Aya Sophia area and had lunch, visited the underground cisterns, then decided we had better try finding our way back home. This meant finding the nearest subway line, which sounds easy, but quite honestly, in a city with as many winding and intersecting streets and alleys as Istanbul, is a challenge. Especially for the directionally challenged, like Emily and I.

We finally found a aboveground tram, that would take us to the subway. Kharma must have directed us to stand next to the only other English speaking people on the tram. They were tourists, from England, and had gotten separated from their group, and were looking for a way back to their ship. Somehow, they had the illusion that we could help. I think Emily gave them the idea, when she was speaking so confidently of how we were getting around. Crazily enough, they listened when she told them where she thought they should get off. As I watched them depart the tram, I prayed she had guessed right. I’ve thought of them often this past week, imagining them still wandering around Istanbul looking for their ship, and cursing those damn Americans.

Spice Bazzar

Well, success breeds success. The next day we branched out to the bus lines from Taksim Square, and ended up just where we had intended. I love riding the big buses, as long as you have a seat. You are up high and can see for miles out their big windows. You get to see so much more of the city, and especially the places you wouldn’t normally go. However, they are pretty crowded, and not so much fun if you are standing the whole way. The inside sign reads sitting capacity 36, but total capacity 90. Now that’s crowded.

Since last week, I’ve added how to take the ferry system to my repertoire, as well as the little neighborhood mini buses. (that’s a whole nother blog) My world is suddenly expanding, and I love how that feels. I love feeling independent again. I love just walking around discovering a new shop or restaurant or park, just a bus stop or two away. I love that I have been lucky enough to live in a city with such a great public transportation system.

Life is good.

Evening with Friends

We had dinner on the Black Sea last night. I love saying that sentence aloud-- it sounds so exotic. It conjures up images of Russian troikas and peasants harvesting wheat fields with scythes. It certainly is a place I never expected to see in my life. In reality, we only live about a 45 minute drive away. I had a call Saturday night from a new friend, Sydney, asking us to all join their family for dinner at their favorite seafood restaurant. Her husband is Turkish, and they have lived in the area for 18 years. Her son Cenk (pronounced Jenk) is new to IICS this year also, and he and Devlin have become good friends. He is also the boy that introduced him into the local Boy Scout troop.

Our drive was delightful. Fifteen minutes into our journey, the high rises of the city were replaced by trees. The road twisted and turned, slowly meandering uphill, where it twisted and turned some more. Along the way, families were picnicking alongside the side of the road. Moms wore colorful print dresses and headscarves and brewed tea, while the children played and Dads smoked cigarettes. Others were out with baskets, picking chestnuts now in season. We drove by the remains of an ancient aqueduct, that served Istanbul back when it was Constantinople. Finally, we came to the village of Dermircikoy, where the Uzunya Beach Restaurant was located, on the shore of the Black Sea.

Aware that cold weather is just around the corner, the restaurant was overrun with people enjoying the the last balmy days of the season. Children were playing on the beach, rolling down sand dunes and kicking soccer balls around while parents enjoyed the scenery, their friends and their appetizers. Our friends arrived, and we were ushered to a long table overlooking the water. Sydney's husband offered to order for us, as we were new to the restaurant; before long the table was covered with an assortment of mezes......pickled fish, dried fish, broadbeans, octopus, two kinds of salads and garlic bread, just to name a few. My favorite was the Sea Bream that was marinated in olive oil and dill. It was delicious, and since I had my party manners on, I ate politely, and left some for others, instead of devouring the whole dish, which is what I wanted to do. Accompanying the salads was a deep bowl of olive oil, in which lots and lots of coarsely chopped garlic floated. You could drizzle it over your salad, but I found drizzling it on top of the oven toasted bread was a taste sensation. It was pungent and strong and oh so good. Emily and I have tried to make it at home since then, and we still haven't gotten it right, no matter how much garlic we add.

As the platters of grilled fish arrived, we were enjoying good conversation, as well as the view of the sea. As the sun set, the lights of the oil tankers in the distance twinkled, giving it a holiday effect. After dinner, we were presented with platters of fresh fruit and halvah, then a platter of freshly picked almonds and walnuts as we finished up with Turkish tea and coffee. Actually, Emily was the only one that had Turkish coffee, and after she finished, our host read her fortune, by staring into the dregs of her cup. Cenk looked on, agreeing or making his own observations, as he is learning the art from his father. 

 It was such a memorable evening. The countryside was beautiful, the food was mouthwatering, and the evening's merriment lifted our spirits. We hope to have many such evenings over the course of our stay here, but this first generous invitation will be one we will never forget.

A New Age

Technology has drastically changed our overseas experience, in comparison to our time spent in Kuwait fourteen years ago. In 1995, in preparation for the move, we purchased our first computer. We spent $3,000, for a machine that was basically a word processor & CD reader, as the internet was still in it's infancy, and unknown to us. News from home was rare, usually by letter, and the cause of much excitement and delight. Jim and I spoke with our parents by phone every two weeks, and though the reception wasn't bad, it was similar to using a walkie talkie as one had to wait a full second between responses. We were able to keep up with the big news stories via CNN or BBC, but keeping up with the latest books or movies was difficult. Well, wait at minute--I did locate a place to buy pirated copies of movies when they were released to video, and became a frequent customer. However books and newspapers were harder to come by, and usually geared towards the British population. I remember missing my daily Houston Chronicle and greedily reading whatever freebie newspaper Jim would bring home after an airline flight.

How the world has changed! With my laptop, I can read the Houston Chronicle with my coffee every morning. Or log onto any number of news sites. Communicating with loved ones can be quickly and efficiently done in a number of ways. Email, (which is now considered old fashioned) is instantaneous, and doesn't require a laborsome and unpleasant trip to a foreign post office. Facebook has been a Godsend as far as staying connected with a large number of friends & family. I check it every morning & evening, enjoying the conversation and photographs shared by loved ones from home. But the biggest improvement in my mind, has been the ability to Skype.

It is mind boggling to me, that with a click of my mouse, I suddenly am talking as well as seeing the person on the other end of the computer. And it doesn't cost us a dime! At odd time during the day, a ring tone will interrupt my surfing, and one of the kids will suddenly appear and we'll chat for a half hour or so. Through the miracle of Skype, June and I have swapped our weekly afternoon coffee from the Richmond Coffee House to our computer screens. I talk more now with my sister Christy, than I did pre-Skype, and even my mother, at 83, has learned how to use it. It truly adds a new dimension to see the other person and their expressions and reactions as one talks.

This was never more evident than yesterday. I had just gotten out of bed, and still in my robe, when Emily called (in tears) to relate the events of the season's premiere of "Brothers and Sisters".  Just as the conversation was winding down, Jim's computer rang and it was Tyler. He called me over to talk also, but as I hadn't even had a cup of coffee yet, I wasn't inclined to hurry, figuring that Jim could carry the conversation for awhile. But he called me again, insisting I come, so I did, albeit, a bit grumpily. When I sat down to talk, both Tyler and Maegan were on screen, smiling broadly and looking very happy. And when he said, "Well, Mom and Dad, we've got some pretty big news", I started to get chills, suddenly realizing what he was about to say. To be able to see both their faces, and their joy, when they announced their engagement was a pleasure I had never imagined. We talked, we laughed, we shared their excitement, all four of us at the same time. We even saw the ring--and goodness, was it ever gorgeous! I am delighted that my son has found love with such a lovely and talented woman and even more delighted at the fact that she's clearly as in love with him as he is with her.

Congratulations and all my love to the both of you.

And Thank You, Skype!

The First Haircut

Celebrating our 28th wedding anniversary

I had my first experience at the hairdresser last Friday. Having moved several times in my life, I know that finding a good hairdresser is not only of utmost importance, but you need to work fast at ferreting out the good places, because the first month goes by way too quickly and suddenly you're in dire need hair cut, just as some social invitation arises. So from the first conversation I had with a woman here, I started asking around. Ironically, it turns out that the place most women go to get their hair done is "Toni and Guy", a well known salon found right back home in Sugar Land.

Last week, my friend Ayda called to let me know she was heading out to get her hair done, and did I want to go along? You bet I did, I replied, and prayed to the Hair Gods that all would be well. Upon entering, we were each ushered to a stall, and awaited the haircutter for our consultation. The interior was circular in nature, and looking around it became clear that this was where the Turkish "beautiful people" came to get their hair done. The salon was quite busy that Friday morning, and I had to wait awhile to talk to the stylist, but there was a gentleman whose sole job it was to bring clients their choice of coffee, tea or mineral water, so I waited in comfort, and enjoyed watching other women turn from ducklings to swans, under the careful guidance of their hairdresser. All were chatting and laughing, but of course it was all in Turkish, so I really couldn't eavesdrop, only imagine.

I was given a folder of different hair styles to peruse while I waited. I realized that I was going to have a hard time explaining that I really just wanted a trim, not a hair style change--especially since I hadn't done a thing with my hair that morning, and it looked pretty awful. How do you say, I want to keep it this way, only make it look better in Turkish? I decided then and there to change tactics, find a new style and hope for the best. Besides, how better to judge the hairdresser's ability? Once I pointed out a couple of cute cuts, he went to work. 

I don't think I have ever had someone use so many different kinds of scissors in so many different areas of my head. He worked for nearly an hour, trimming here, texturizing there, and when he was done, I was horrified. It looked like a bad haircut I'd had back in 1986 shortly after Emily was born. All I could think was that for the next 3 months I was going to be looking like a shorn terrier.

The stylist left me to go work on someone else, and two other assistants showed up. It was their job to dry my hair. Yes, both of them at the same time, one to hold the brush, the other to direct the dryer. Holding small hanks of hair at a time, they went to work. They spent another 20 minutes or so, blowing and styling, and slowly I started to gain a little hope as I watched them work. By the time they were done, I liked what I saw, but wondered if I would be able to replicate it at home. However, the stylist wasn't done with me yet. He came back, and using the tools of his trade, re-interpreted their blow drying with his own vision and by the time he was done, I looked tres chic! I happily paid the bill, and Ayda and I lunched across the street at an outdoor cafe.

You never know how good a cut is, until after you have washed it and blown it dry yourself. On Saturday afternoon, with trepidation, I began the process. By the time I was done, It looked pretty good. Not quite so chic as my stylist had done, but definitely do-able and a style that I can live with. Devlin gave me the ultimate compliment, when he said, "Mom, you look younger!"  So, I can rest a little easier, knowing that one more aspect of life overseas has been resolved.

Istanbul Opportunities

Turkish Coffee, photo by Claudia Turgut, "A Seasonal Cook in Turkey"

Goodness, It has been nearly two weeks since I posted anything. Partly because of the long holiday we have been on, and partly because I am gradually finding a life! Last week, I spent the whole of Wednesday at a PTA Coffee Morning, followed by a board meeting. I absolutely hate walking into a brand new group of people, and striking up a conversation. I would rather eat dirt. But, in order to have comfortable old friends, you must make new ones first. So I grit my teeth, put a smile on my face, and utter all the friendly banalities that I can think of, just to get the ball rolling. In fact, I met several interesting women, with whom I exchanged email and phone numbers. I went home exhausted, relieved that it was over, but very glad I had forced myself to go.

The next day, I became a card carrying member of the IWI, which stands for the International Women of Istanbul. It is open to any woman living in Istanbul who has a passport from another country. This is the one organization that every ex-pat woman depends upon when she is over seas. It is usually well organized and professionally run, with programs and events open to all members. It was held at a luxurious hotel downtown, and was basically a meet and greet, but with lots of tables to visit that had various groups to join or services of interest to ex-pats. I signed up to work on the St. Andrews Day Ball (Dec. 5), joined the Art Lovers of Istanbul, and a knitting for charity group. I took home a glossy, color magazine, filled with events to attend in October. Each month, another magazine will be hand delivered, offering the next months activities. October offerings include, a "Turkish Wine Tasting" night (I'll sign us up for that one) a Turkish Cooking class, Touring the markets, or having a Bobbi Brown makover. I can see there will be amble opportunities to get involved. After the meeting was over, a group of us met on the patio overlooking the Bosphorus for lunch. By the end of the day, overcome with enthusiasm for my new found friends, I issued an impromptu invitation to three families for a "Seker Bayram" party to be held at our house.

Most ex-pat societies are pretty welcoming; In Istanbul, I have felt genuinely embraced. What a blessing. The tension inside me is gradually beginning to unwind.

Week End

Our weekend was spent quietly at home. On Friday, Jim called to alert me that the office was closing early, as more heavy rain was predicted, and the threat of more flooding was eminent. As his driver succinctly put it, "Sir, Disaster is coming!" Jim was home by 3:30, and as it appeared to be no weekend for sightseeing, we told our driver he would not be needed.

Jim had plenty of work to keep him busy, Devlin found movies to watch on his computer, and I did some light housework, read and watched some TV. I am always fascinated to channel surf when I'm in a different country. You just never know what new gem you are going to stumble upon.

We have a few English speaking channels. The ever reliable BBC, CNN Business (Bor-ing!) and Al-Jazeera. I am quite impressed with Al-Jazeera. Here I always thought that it was a terrorist news organization, and yet I find they do a super job of covering the news in the Middle East and Africa. Obviously, their reporters are allowed in to places that our American reporters are unable to go, so yesterday I watched the homecoming party for the Iraqi that threw his shoe at President Bush. And believe it or not, I watched a program on BBC called "Equestrian World",  and learned all about the newest star in the world of dressage. There's a program you would be hard pressed to find in America.

There is one channel that delivers a mishmash of different western programs, all in English, with Turkish subtitles. Devlin and I watched "Merlin", "My name is Earl" and my new personal favorite, the eternal "Dr. Who". This show has really been updated since the last time I saw it sometime back in 1975. Great effects, quirky plots and witty writing compared to standard TV fare. Even though all the shows are broadcast in English on this station, all the commercials are in Turkish. My favorite has something to do with a soccer team; I'm not sure what they are selling, but the theme music is catchy, and I find myself humming along when it comes on.

Jim caught Martha Stewart's show yesterday morning before I was up. Like many western shows, it was dubbed into Turkish. He found it pretty amusing that she was preparing a great big ham dinner. Not having found any pork products here yet, I think that episode probably didn't make the recipe box of many local viewers. 

Luckily, Disaster was averted. We did get rain, but not enough to flood anywhere. By Sunday the weather had cleared, and this morning Devlin returned to school. Life is returning to normal.

Flood

When living in paradise, it's always a shock when the snake rears it's ugly head. The recent heavy rains have caused flash floods here in Istanbul. Over 30 people have died, and several more are unaccounted for. Because we live so far away from the damage, and are so new to the area, we are using internet news agencies to give us the news. In-depth coverage is hard to come by--at least, in English. But the pictures I’ve seen are horrific. From the accounts I have read, rapid urban growth seems to be at the root of the problem.

About 15 years ago, Istanbul held two million residents. Today the population is estimated to be around fifteen to eighteen million. Most of those inhabitants came from the countryside, and chose to build houses or businesses wherever there was a vacant spot, with no regard for whether or not it was legal. After the buildings were completed, the local government was petitioned to put in the required infrastructure. They complied, so after the fact, sewer, water lines and roads were added. Sounds crazy, but that seems to be standard operating procedure around here.

In the grab for land, many river basins were filled with roads and housing flats. So when we were hit with such unrelenting rain Monday and Tuesday, and the rivers spilled over, flooding was the natural result. In the newspapers today, there has been lots of finger pointing. I’m not sure who the last person pointed at will be, but there is plenty of blame to go around.

Our complex at Istinye is built on higher ground; it’s actually quite hilly here, and we are fairly high up on the hill. We are right around the corner from the American Embassy. I figure those guys always do there homework when it comes to picking out a safe place, and indeed, someone told me yesterday that Istinye was selected because it was considered earthquake safe. Hopefully that is one disaster that will never befall this city.

Birthday!

Friday was Jim's birthday. Guess what the best gift of the day was? He got a HOT shower! As did both Devlin and I. What a great start to the day. And with the water heater problem fixed, I was able to meet for coffee with a lovely woman from our complex. She has been living here since January and generously shared all that she had discovered in the past 9 months. Among other things, I now know where to go to take Turkish lessons, where the closest dry cleaners are, and most importantly, where get my hair done. Just spending time chatting face to face with another woman improved my whole day.

Jim called later in the afternoon, to see if I would like to go out to dinner. One of the fellows from work had asked us out to celebrate his birthday. Always eager to try a new restaurant, I assented, and put my cooking plans on hold. Since the birthday boy got to pick the venue, Jim chose a place called "Dukkan" (correctly spelled with two dots over the u)

I know now why my husband, the carnivore, chose it. It was a meat lover's paradise. It has gained a reputation for being the premiere steak house in Istanbul, but oddly enough is located in a decidedly low rent neighborhood. Originally a butcher shop, it is now a very small restaurant, with butcher block tables and benches for community seating. As you enter, there is a refrigerator case filled with dry aged beef. Once a table is procured, you select your cut of meat, tell them how you want it grilled, and they take care of the rest. Nearly 8:45 at night, the restaurant was crowded and there didn't appear to be any open tables, so the two of us stood and waited with a glass of wine. We didn't think much about it, since Friday nights in Houston are much the same way. However, they take their hospitality seriously in Turkey, and It didn't take too long before a waiter found us a seat by shooing a couple of guys down a bench. Our host joined us shortly afterwards, and a bottle of South American red was brought to the table along with a large bowl of green salad. Olive oil, vinegar and a thick pomegranate juice are provided as dressing.

The first course consisted of a platter of dried beef prosciutto, piled atop a butcher block serving dish. The men dug in, but I held back, wanting to save my appetite for the main course. I was talked into trying a piece, however, and it was thinly shaved and flavorful, but honestly, it seemed to be something that would taste best as a sandwich. The next course presented were the veal link sausages. Slightly flavored with fennel and browned to perfection, they were absolutely delicious. Once the sausages were cleared away, along came the meat patties. I'm not sure if it was beef or lamb, but they too were seasoned perfectly, and were scrumptious. However, I was really starting to fill up. Three different meat courses before the main dish will do that to you. Despite my sated appetite, our Porterhouse steaks were brought out shortly, each one presented alone on a fresh slab of butcher block, perfectly seared and sizzling. Accompanying the steaks were smashed potatoes--small white potatoes that had been oven roasted whole, slightly caramelized, then put on a platter and smashed with a spatula, so they resembled thick potato discs. My stomach was groaning by the time I had eaten half my steak, so I let Jim finish it--which he did with no problem.

But the meat courses were not quite finished. After removing our plates, and letting our stomachs rest for a little while, a dessert meat dish was presented. Who knew there was such a thing? I think my mouth dropped open in amazement as a plate was placed in front of me that contained thick piece of grilled sausage, atop a slice of toasted french bread, By this time, there was no way I could have possibly eaten one more piece of meat. Our host assured me that it would settle my palate. However I had grave doubts about that, and after taking a tiny bite, shoved it over to Jim. He showed no compunction about gobbling both of ours down.

Our dinner was outstanding, and the conversation flowed, as only it can when one is enjoying fine food and wine. Our host jumped up and went to the bar, returning with a grappa for me and a bottle of cognac for the two of them. Thank goodness the bottle was only a third full, because dinner wasn't over until the cognac was gone. Oh, I forgot! And yet one more course was brought to the table. This time it wasn't meat. It was a slab of dark chocolate--and entire slab, about the size of my laptop and twice as thick. With a big old carving knife stuck into it, we were able to chip off and eat as much as we desired. If only they had brought it first! I had a piece, but only a modest one. I was just too full to even contemplate eating more.

It was midnight before we finished, and we had long been the last patrons in the place. Unlike Houston, there was no push to get us to leave; no glaring waiters, no one running a vacuum cleaner near our toes. Just a tired but patient staff, wishing us well as we finally left, reminding us to come again. Which we will assuredly do, anytime another carnivore comes to visit.

Hot Water, part 2

I really hate to revisit a subject, but in fact, life without a working water heater is dominating my life. Since last Monday, I have had a repairman in every day (except for the weekend of course) and we still don't have hot water. On Monday, I had two different sets of repairmen in fact. One set to take out the heater, and another set to haul it off to the shop. Yesterday, it arrived back at our flat, with the assurance that all was well. Thirty minutes later, a repairman arrived to re- install it.

I will admit to being a bit nervous during that installation. He had tinkered for more than an hour, when I began to hear a strange noise coming from the kitchen. A noise that sounded rather like a pressure cooker hitting full steam. A few minutes later, the smell of gas seeped into the living room. “Oh my God, I thought, I have flown 3000 miles from home, just to die in an gas explosion." The smell of gas didn't dissipate, and I tried to figure out how far I would have to run in order to escape certain death. Surely if my water heater blows, it will take down at least my building, but will there be a domino effect? Will it take down the row of buildings surrounding us? Will it reach my only safe haven, Istinye Park Mall? Having no answers to those questions, and reminding myself that my imagination was working overtime, I forced myself to remain calm, opened the patio door and continued reading my book. A few minutes later, I heard the shrill and relentless sound of an alarm in the distance. Hoping that it was a smoke alarm in another building, I opened my front door, only to hear the sound rachet up several hundred decibels. Great. Now at least I know what the alarm for gas leaks sounds like.

I kept an eye on the repairman, figuring that if he yelled or ran, I would follow. Some things just don't need to be translated. Unbelievably, he stayed calmly working another half hour or so. I continued to hear scary sounds & smells, but he called me into the kitchen a while later and between a mix of Turkish and sign language, explained that it was fixed, and to keep the windows open for awhile. (actually, that didn't need translation either, as the smell of gas was still pretty strong) I was delighted and excited to find the water pouring into the sink was steaming hot. I thanked him kindly, and sent him on his way around 2:30 (oh wait, I mean 14:30) By 17:30, the hot water was cold once again, and I was confronted once again with the bleak realization of cold morning showers for all.

So I am again sitting at home, waiting for service. In fact, much of my time in Turkey so far, has been spent in waiting. I am anxious to get this water heater problem taken care of, so I can get out and actually have some experiences worth blogging about. In the meantime, I will practice my Turkish so I’ll be ready.

By the way, I spoke to Emily this morning, and she has had hot water for 3 or 4 days running now. Last week, the contractor came by and repaired some holes in the a/c ductwork that squirrels caused (at least we hope it was squirrels) I’m keeping my fingers crossed that he fixed it, because I have this strange idea that somehow our fates our linked in this no hot water situation. If she has hot water, then surely I can’t be too far behind.

My Kitchen

My new kitchen is a joy to work in. It is much smaller than what I am used to, but what it lacks in size it makes up for in efficiency. I am most impressed with the sink area. It is comprised of a wash up sink, a produce sink and a drainboard, all of stainless steel, and taking up less room than width of the new sink I had installed in my Houston kitchen, just before I left. There are two deep drawers underneath the sink. The first one glides out to contain all the cleaning agents, sponges and cloths one needs at ones fingertips. Within the second drawer is the garbage/recycling area. There are two small stainless steel garbage cans there, one for refuse and one for recycling. A metal bottle rack is there to hold empty wine bottles upright.

The sink area is on the long wall, along with the cooktop. The counter top is granite, and oddly enough, it is exactly the same granite I just had installed in my kitchen back home. I love it-- Messes are easily camouflaged and you never see the water marks, left by damp sponges. The cooktop has 3 gas burners, small, medium and large, plus an electric burner! Great for simmering, as you don't have to worry about the flame going out.

The opposite wall holds the wall oven and the refrigerator. The refrigerator is small, but when you live in a country that sells milk in quart bottles, you don't need a big one. I am still learning how to use the oven. The temperature is in celcius, which takes some getting used to. And I abhor the digital clock, as it gives you the time in military fashion. I am fine in the mornings, up till 12:59--then suddenly it's 13:00. I am lost all afternoon, even though I have been told to "look at the clock and subtract 12". Seeing a clock read 20:30 just doesn't feel like 8:30.

The kitchen is large enough to contain a breakfast table for the three of us. I don't remember ever living in a house that had a kitchen table. The first week I was here, for the sake of propriety, we ate in the dining room. One night, on a whim, I sat us at the kitchen table, and we've never gone back to the dining room. It's pretty cosy in the kitchen, and cleanup is a snap, since we are literally two steps away from the sink/dishwasher.

The only improvement I would suggest that would make this kitchen perfect, would be when I have hot water coming out of the faucet. And I will definitely be blogging when that red letter day arives!                  

Hot Water

In early June, as the first days of summer were hitting the triple digits in Houston, we suddenly found ourselves without hot water. It seems that our attic gets so intensely hot, that the gas flame of the hot water heater extinguishes itself as a safety precaution. It is possible to re-light it, but involves a tortuous process of climbing rickety attic stairs, maneuvering a maze of old boxes and suitcases in dim light, then holding down certain buttons in a certain pattern while counting to 60. But as if that were not daunting enough, we each had a deep and abiding fear of doing something wrong and thereby blowing the house and ourselves to bits. So we lived all summer with cool showers. (Houston's heat prevent us from ever really having cold water). As Devlin and I left Houston last week, my guilt at leaving Emily to her cool showers were tempered by my glee at knowing that hot ones would soon be in my future.

Well, Life has nothing , if not a sense of humor.. I am still in search of a hot shower. The water heater has been on the fritz ever since I arrived. At first it wasn't too bad. The water would run hot for about 8 seconds, then suddenly cool down for 8 seconds. Once I got the rhythm down, I knew when to step out from under the incoming cool droplets, and when to step back in. Not perfect, but better than what I'd been living with in Houston. However, yesterday we awoke to no hot water at all.

Luckily, there is one gentleman in the front office who speaks English. I explained the dilemma and he was responsive, promising to send a "friend" to check on it that very afternoon. The friend arrived late in the afternoon; his English was limited. My Turkish is even more limited. As he began to tinker with the water heater, he looked at me confidently and proclaimed, "No problem!" I had my doubts. I may not speak Turkish, but I have learned a bit about water heaters this sumer. I turned on the faucet, to check the temperature, and indeed, no hot water. Not even warm. He tinkered some more, and announces rather impatiently this time, "No Problem". We recheck the water. Still cold. Through hand signals & gestures I realize he needs a screwdriver, and I start looking for one. In an apartment 3 weeks old, we haven't accrued many tools, but luck is with me, and I find one. As he tears into the job, I relocate myself to the living room, to await the news. Not ten minutes later, he comes in, head shaking and use his remaining english vocabulary to announce: "Big Problem". He shows me a leak dripping water from some pipe, then points to the temperature gauge, giving a finger motion that goes in reverse. He validates what I already knew--we have no hot water.

A three way phone conversation between he, I and the English speaking apartment manager lets me know that it will be tomorrow before it can be fixed.

Jim grumbled at bit this morning at his 2nd day of cold showers. I nodded sympathetically, but a bratty kid voice inside my head said "Oh come on, we've gone all summer without hot showers!" Devlin didn't say anything, but then, he's probably not had enough time to get used to hot showers.

I am nothing if not optimistic. I am confident that if they said someone will come today, someone will come. It's only 1:00 in the afternoon. There is still plenty of time for a serviceman to show up. It's the 21st century, hot water should be a non- issue. And all the while, I imagine just how good that hot shower will feel.

Shop Till You Drop

Our first outing as tourists was a trip to the Grand Bazaar yesterday. "Grand" is an understatement. Over 4,000 shops are contained within its narrow, labyrinth like streets. 4,000 shops! To put that in some kind of perspective, the Galleria in Houston contains just 375, and I can't cover that in day. It really is the world's first shopping mall, for it began as a market during the Byzantine era, continued to grow through the Ottoman empire, until it eventually was roofed and walled in. At night, it was locked down and guarded by over 100 soldiers, much like medieval castles. I read somewhere that it is visited by over 15,000 people in the course of a day. I think all 15,000 were there Saturday morning.

If you can't find it at the bazaar, I don't believe it is made. Jewelry, carpets, textiles, copper, icons, coins, daggers, musical instruments, soaps, antiques, leather and even underwear! And all can be had for whatever price you bargain. Now there's the rub. Haggling is an art, and not one at which I have ever been any good. I know that the merchandise is marked up, and that you are supposed to offer half of the asking price, but I just can't bring myself to do it. I walked by shops and stalls without touching a thing or even making eye contact with any salesman for fear I would have to begin negotiations.

Finally, I got brave enough to actually pick up a shawl. Immediately the shop owner was there, pulling out several others and displaying them for my viewing pleasure. "22 lira for the large shawl, Madam; 18 for the small."  I stood there, speechless, knowing I should offer 12 or 14, but unable to get the words out of my mouth. He took pity on me, and said, "Madam, since you are the first customer of the day, I will let you have it for 20."  Now I'm mortified, because I realize that he is actually doing my bargaining for me. I find my voice and say "18!" And of course, it's a deal.

I'm delighted with my shawl. It's probably made in China, but will look dashing on my dining room table. I think the exchange rate is something like 1.50 lira to $1.00 American, so I think that means I paid about $12.00, which is a bargain in my book. Maybe the next time I do this, I will stiffen my spine and start a little lower.

Eating Local

Shopping at the Spice Market 

Change your culture and you will change your diet. Happily, I enjoy eating fresh vegetables and fruits, good cheeses, and whole grain breads. In fact, I thought that was what I was eating back home in Houston. Not really. I am amazed at how different a fresh peach, tomato or strawberry tastes over here. I don't know if it is the soil, the sun, or the lack of fertilizers and pesticides that make the difference, but I'm savoring every morsel.

I made ratatouille for dinner last night. It was a simple vegetable stew, made with zucchini, eggplant, onions, tomatoes, peppers, garlic and olive oil, served over penne pasta. It was absolutely delicious, and I'm looking forward to enjoying the leftovers at lunch. The tomatoes here are perfectly plump, perfectly red and actually have flavor and texture. I was inspired to make bruschetta a couple of nights ago, and am looking for a reason to make it again soon. Peaches are now in season, and are the size of softballs. But better than that, they taste like the peaches I ate as a child--so incredibly sweet and juicy that one is content to eat it in its natural state, instead of tarting it up into a cobbler or pie.

Prices for local produce are reasonable-at least by my reckoning of the exchange rate. I picked up a large package of fresh, white mushrooms--enough for two meals--and paid approximately $2.00. Meat is another matter. A pound of ground beef ran me about $12.00. Turkish wines are quite good, but a little pricey, starting at at $12.00 a bottle. However, an imported bottle of Yellow Tail Shiraz will set us back $30.00, so we are definitely drinking the local stuff.

With produce this good, I am inspired to use it as the basis of my meal planning instead of resigning them to the sidelines. Below is the Ratatouille recipe I used, courtesy of Jacques Pepin

Ratatouille

1 eggplant (about 10 oz), chopped into 1 inch pieces

2 small zucchini, 3/4 inch pieces

2 Italian peppers, seeded and cut into 1 inch pieces

2 cups chopped onions

1 can diced tomatoes

1 cup mushrooms, quartered (my addition)

2 tsp salt

1/4 cup olive oil.

Put all ingredients into a large sauce pan and bring to a boil over high heat. Mix well, reduce the heat to low, cover and cook gently for 30 minutes. If the mixture still has a lot of liquid, reduce it by boiling, uncovered, for 3 -4 minutes. Cool to room temperature. Season to taste. ( I added Tony Chacheres Creole seasoning, as well as some chopped basil) Mix in cooked penne pasta, and serve at room temperature. Garnish with additional grated parmesan cheese and kalamata olives.

Dreaming

Istinye Park Apartments

As I am enjoying the early morning sun on the balcony this morning, I realized that there is nothing I have to do today. No appointments, no errands, no phone calls to make. Tidying the apartment and making dinner this evening is about as strenuous as it will get. Would I like a steady diet of such nothingness? No. However, I am enjoying the calm before the storm. This is the last week of summer vacation. Devlin will start school on Monday, which will bring a stream of new acquaintances, experiences, as well as a much needed routine to our days.

Because I have no idea what lies ahead, life seems full of possibilities. I just peeked at an Istanbul city guide for expats, and next week I could attend a ballet, go to a concert at Topkapi Palace, or see an artists exhibition at Taksim square. School meetings will begin to fill my days. Ex-pat organizations, such as the American Women's Club and the International Women's Club will start up shortly. At the moment, I am content to just know that these things lie around the corner. Soon, I will have to make the first steps to get involved. Right now, I am happy to just know the opportunities are there.

Right now, I am listening to water splashing in the fountain below, and the high pitched whine of a motor bike in the distance. The sky is a serene blue, with just a few whispy white clouds for interest. My neighbor's balcony is ablaze with window boxes containing pink, white and red geraniums. The breeze is lightly ruffling the tree branches.

It is the last week of summer, and I am content to sit and dream.

In Which We Begin

Walking along the Bosphorus

We have been here four days now, and the jet lag is behind us, thank goodness. Today we had our first real outing, a long walk along the Bosphorus waterfront. It was a lovely summer afternoon, probably in the mid 80's, with a soft breeze to keep one cool. There was a wide concrete pathway along the sea, from which people were fishing, strolling, and jumping in to enjoy the water. Swimmers were bobbing along in the salt water as cruise boats steamed by loaded with sightseers. The fishermen were using oysters as bait, and the fish they were catching were about a finger length in size. It would take quite a few to make a good meal.

The waterfront was loaded with restaurants; the biggest decision was which one to select. We chose one based on two criteria; the name was pronouncable, and it displayed a gold seal with the word "tourism" on it, which I interpreted to mean that it was tourist board certified. I have no idea whether or not that is correct, but the thought gave me comfort.

Eating out can present some challenges when the menu is not in a language one understands. I decided to be adventurous and order the "special Kofti", a dish I didn't recognize, but was pretty sure was ground beef. Devlin and Jim figured they would play it safe and ordered the "special kebab".

I laughed when the orders came. Mine was delightful! A spiced ground beef patty, topped with cooked spinach and cheese, potato wedges and a side salad of chopped tomatoes, cucumbers, corn and herbs. Jim and Devlin on the other hand, were given bowls of plain yougurt topped with beef strips. And neither of them like yougurt. I swear, I offered to trade mine for one of theirs, but thankfully, they declined my offer. I did leave some of my fries for Devlin, but devoured the rest of it, as it was so good. I tried a bite of the "special kabab", and it wasn't bad at all--just different--kind of like making beef stroganoff and forgetting the beef stock.

I think we will go to the mall today and buy a English/Turkish dictionary.