Fourth week, October (Ekim) 6 - 12

This week, I begin Turkish lessons at the Turkish American Association (TAA), continue to find stuff for the apartment, continue to fathom the mysteries of bus transportation, check out our new neighborhood, and try to obtain residency permits for me and Larry. We now know how to find the free Hacettepe service bus from our new neighborhood. Arriving a little earlier (8:05 a.m.) than the Mutlu Koy bus, our Bachelievler employee bus is an even closer walk—no longer than five minutes from our apartment. Before long, we should figure out alternative routes and times during the day in and out of the university which, unfortunately, is way out in the suburbs, the equivalent of traveling between UConn/Storrs and maybe Vernon, CT.

My Turkish lessons began on Tuesday, Oct. 6, at the Turkish American Association (TAA). They run from 6:30 – 9:00 on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. They are taught by a 23-year old Turkish woman who teaches in Turkish. Drat! I always have trouble with beginning language classes taught in the actual language. Not my learning style, at least not until I’ve got the basics under my belt. Well, maybe it will work this time. Getting to classes requires a fifteen minute walk to the subway, a 7 – 8 minute ride to Kizilay. Then I either walk for 45 minutes to class, or take a city bus, depending on how late I’m running, or how tired I am. After class, I take a bus to the subway; arriving home a little after 10:00 p.m. This week, Larry hasn’t been able to come with me due to his schedule. Next week he hopes to join me. I hope so. I do not feel particularly threatened walking home alone from the subway. But the streets are a little dark, and I will certainly welcome Larry’s company. He has offered to meet me at the subway station on nights he can’t make the class; I will likely take him up on this offer which will be easier if/when I ever get our cell phones activated. One of my fellow students, a businessman from Puerto Rico, waited with me for the bus after class, so we started a conversation. When he told me he was an art dealer in Puerto Rico, I asked if he knew Lorenzo Homar, an artist and teacher from the island who died just a few years ago at age 90. “El Maestro!” was his reply. “Of course I know him, he is the master!” He was very surprised to hear about the exhibit I curated nearly 25 years ago, and wants me to contact him when I get back to the states. Small world!

We have approximately 7 days to acquire a residency permit before incurring a hefty fine of approximately $400. We sure wish we had all the information we needed weeks ago. But, here we go. First we needed copies of our passports and driver’s licenses—after finding a photocopy service, that is—not so easy, but we succeeded. Then we needed a letter from the university, in Turkish, stating that we’re legit. Also 270 TL. Pulling that together, among other documents, we were able to find a graduate student to bring us to the appropriate police station to begin the application process early in the morning of Oct. 8. Talking her way to the appropriate office (big police station), Gozde worked with an official who said we needed a letter of introduction from the Higher Education Council of Turkey. Eventually he found it (the Fulbright office had taken care of this letter-hooray!). But, alas, our Hacettepe letter was not sufficient; we needed it to be issued from the university’s president’s office, not just the department. And we also need a photocopy of our visa, not just the passport info. In addition, we need a certified translation of our marriage license. So off I go to downtown Ankara to look for such a translation service. But first, I’ll hit the dictionary to figure out how to ask for what I need. The kind policeman assures us that we have time before the fine kicks in. I sure hope our graduate student can fit us in to another trek to the station; it’s not someplace we can easily find by bus. However, now may be the time to figure out the taxi system.

Taking the subway to the transportation hub of Ankara, Kizilay, I followed people’s directions to look diagonally across from the subway station to find a certified translation service. The problem here is that there are at least six exits out of the Kizilay subway stop, all landing me on a different street. And the “hub,” where I get out of one of the exits (it’s a matter of chance as to which one I choose after getting off the train) is the convergence of more than a few streets, with lots of “diagonals” to choose from. I made an arbitrary choice, looked up, and saw a large sign advertising just the type of service I needed. The next challenge was to find either the stairway or the elevator to the fourth floor, (according to the advertisement on the side of the building). After many false starts, and some halting questions to local vendors, I found the office, asked for the translation, and was advised that it would take two hours and cost between 20 and 30 lira (about $13-$20). Seemed fair to me. So off I went to explore Kizilay for two hours.

I wandered up a hill I hadn’t explored before, looked to the right, and saw the Kocatepe Mosque—the new symbol of Ankara (the former symbol was the “Hittite Sun, the logo on my blog), and one of the largest mosques in the world. It is very new, and, being white, is dazzling in the sun. I cannot believe I didn’t bring my camera with me that day! Anyway, my goal was the shopping center beneath the mosque. Mosques have traditionally hosted not only schools and soup kitchens on behalf of the local community, but also vendors to assist in the upkeep of the buildings. Below the Kocatepe mosque (officially Kocatepe Camii) is an enormous supermarket and department store. Larry and I used to shop here regularly, when Bilkent University had not yet built a grocery store on campus, but I had completely forgotten how huge it is. After buying a few things for the apartment and having lunch at the only café I could find—an American-style café, darn—I couldn’t find the exit I had entered. Exiting out of another one, I found myself on an unfamiliar street. No problem, right? I’ll just skirt around the mosque until I find my exit and go down the street I came up. I had deliberately memorized the large poster outside the entrance in case I went out the wrong exit. Long after exiting, and switching back from many, many dead ends, parking garages, entryways to highway, and the enormous outdoor patio serving as the main entry to the upper mosque, I finally found the street that would take me back to the translation service. (When I faced the gorgeous entryway to the mosque, I regretted not bringing a head scarf with me. This is one mosque where I would not be allowed—understandably—to enter without a head covering. Alas, I have never been inside this mosque. I am determined to remember my scarf next time I’m in the area).

Returning to the translation service, I was advised that it would be another ½ hour before the translation was ready. No problem, I’ll wander around some more. This time, I investigated a small street behind some of the large buildings in Kizilay, to find a bustling outdoor flower market. It was certainly tempting to buy some of the beautiful flower bouquets and/or indoor plants, but I passed. I did find, however, a watch and clock shop, where I was able to replace the watch Larry had just lost for 10 TL (@$7), and another little alarm clock for our living room (@$2) so we don’t have to keep running to the end of our long apartment to tell the time when in the living room. I’m not sure how legit this store was, but I am happy to have saved myself lots of money. Other watches I had seen cost a small fortune.

Back to the translation service—another ½ hour they said. By this time my feet were hurting, so I sat and waited, and drank the wonderful Turkish tea they offered me. (I love Turkish tea). Yet another ½ hour, they say again, this time looking embarrassed, as I began to show some irritation. The owner repeatedly apologizing, he called the translator to give him whatfor, to be told it would be ready in 3 minutes. An hour and a half later, I had my translation. The owner was so embarrassed, he would not accept payment from me. I insisted. He declined. I insisted, ending up paying half the 40 TL it turned out to cost. The increase in the final price was due to all the complicated lines on the form, which is what took so long. At any rate, I was happy to have one more piece of the puzzle needed to acquire the elusive residency permit.

Without a residency permit, we cannot open a bank account. Without a bank account, we cannot get our Fulbright pay. Before leaving the states, I withdrew quite a bit of money from my bank account, converting several thousand dollars to Turkish lira. Feeling rather foolish carrying all that cash around for 5,000+ miles, and, in retrospect, relinquishing my dollars for a pretty bad exchange rate, I had assumed I made the first of many mistakes. Not so, as it turned out. We needed most of that money just to get through the first four weeks. Whew!

Some of the money I’m spending on completing the furnishing of our new apartment. Although our landlords thought of nearly everything we would need, there have been, nonetheless, some things we still need. So, while looking for specifics—waste basket for the bathroom, pots and pans, laundry basket, garlic press, and so on, Larry and I have explored the different directions around our neighborhood. We find that, by walking a few blocks in one direction, we find a wildly crowded street – especially on weekend evenings – listed on our tourist map as a shopping mecca, in addition to offering cafes and clubs frequented by thousands of young people, similar to the street we passed through on the way to a party a few weeks ago. This is the street that would be heaven for small young women – like my daughter, Anna – looking for the latest fashions that are, nonetheless, reasonably priced and sized for the under 120 pound set. There is even higher fashion in downtown Ankara, but 7th street in our neighborhood is more middle class in its clientele. In another direction from our street, on the walk toward the subway station, I pass by dozens of small car dealerships, with their cars parked on the sidewalk where I walk, negotiating tight spaces between the shops and moving traffic. Many of the cars for sale on this street are surprisingly large—Land Rovers, BMW SUVS, Honda SUVs, and other cars larger than the norm here. Most cars on the road are quite small, in keeping with gas that sells for the equivalent of $8 to $9 per gallon. Another direction takes us past more cafes and more shops, including a small supermarket, Migros, where we succeeded in finding soy milk and humus. Although Larry is not sticking to a strict vegan diet here, as he does at home, these discoveries make it easier for him to eat in the way he normally chooses. The last direction takes us past dozens of small shops selling household goods. Ah, this will work for furnishing the apartment. Moving past these shops, we found the local Pazar (bazaar) spot, where Fridays teem with dozens of farmers selling their fresh produce—like the one we frequented with Gulriz in her neighborhood. Tomatoes are still wonderful and amazingly cheap; we bought about seven large ripe tomatoes for approximately one dollar (1.5 Turkish Lira).

Speaking of food, we were invited to dinner at the home of the people who hosted the party we attended a few weeks ago. Knowing how to get there, we walked (again) from the transportation hub, Kizilay, to their Kavaklidere apartment, a 40 minute walk after the subway ride. The Nelsons, from Florida, had just the two of us for dinner this past Saturday. Alice is certainly a terrific cook. Let me list what she prepared: 1. Zucchini patties (like crab cakes but without the crab or the Bay seasonings); 2. sliced onions seasoned with sumac; 3. yogurt, cuke & garlic sauce; 4. spinach & cauliflour stir fry; 5. rice with courants; 6. shepard’s salad (tomatoes, cukes, onions, olive oil and lemon, with lots of fresh parsley); and, I think, a few other dishes I’m forgetting. Oh, right, all these followed the lentil soup that started the meal. I brought the dessert: unimaginative (but really good) baklava and chocolate chip/raisin cookies, all from a really good bakery. We drank Turkish red wine, which was excellent. We had so much fun that we nearly lost track of the time and worried that the subway would shut down before we made our way back. The walk back was shorter because it was downhill, but was long enough to completely sober me.

We made tentative plans with the Nelsons to visit with one other couple an archaeological site called Gordion, the location of the legendary cutting of the Gordion Knot by Alexander the Great, and the domain of King Midas. In addition, we still have tentative plans to visit Bodrum, on the Aegean Sea, with Gulriz the last weekend of October. So we will finally be able to start traveling and I can stop boring you all with our domestic arrangements.

One more activity this week worth noting: On Friday, Larry and I went to campus to hear a late morning lecture by Scott Slovic, a faculty member at the University of Nevada, who was speaking about “Ecocriticism: why does it matter?” Once again, I assumed it would be a dry academic polemic, but it was very interesting. And the number of students attending was terrific; of course, they were required to attend. At lunch with the speaker and a handful of faculty, I asked if he knew Edwin Way Teale’s work, as he, Teale, lived within a stone’s throw of our Hampton house. He said he teaches Teale and, no, he didn’t know that the latter’s archive is at the UConn/Storrs campus. If he visits the archive, he is welcome to stay with us, where we can take him hiking at Trailwood, the former home of Edwin and Nellie Teale, and now an Audobon center.

Oh—last night, just as we were settling down to watch BBC World News, one of two TV channels we can watch in English (we watch some Turkish news channels, but our Turkish is abysmal), we get a phone call from who but Larry’s sister, Carol. I was so surprised that I wasn’t quite sure what to say. She was calling from Seattle where she was visiting her son and his family and celebrating her granddaughter, Sydney’s, third birthday. What a terrific surprise to be able to talk to them! Made my day.

Once we obtain our residency permit (keeping our fingers crossed), our bank account, and visit the Embassy to send off, by diplomatic pouch, our absentee ballots for the local elections in Hampton, I will finally start making some choices as to “what I will be doing with my time,” here in Ankara. I must admit, that this weekend, spent on a dinner party, some long exercise sessions, some shopping, some cooking, and – to my delight – reading of an entire book, I am very happy to have spent the time in such mundane activities. Our transition time has been longer than I expected. Before long, though, I will decide what my role will be, if any, at Hacettepe; there are several possibilities. Or, I may just decide that Turkish classes, learning to cook Turkish food, exercise, visits to campus, use of two or three libraries, writing my blog, checking various web sites and reading, reading, and more reading, may go a long way in “filling my time.”