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.