tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44033551760737521782024-02-20T22:54:46.963-08:00Adventures in TurkeyKristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-40679625278472950012008-07-21T08:25:00.000-07:002008-07-21T08:39:42.274-07:00Tuesday, June 24Tuesday, June 24 <p class="MsoNormal">We woke up this morning to Yasimin coming in to our rooms and saying cheerily “Gun eydun!” which means “good morning!”<span style=""> </span>We rolled out of our very comfortable pallets and out to the big main room for an absolutely delicious breakfast of fried fresh-caught fish, cucumbers, tomatoes, cheese that they made themselves, walnuts from their orchard, and honey from their bees.<span style=""> </span>And of course their staple, that flatbread and Turkish tea.<span style=""> </span>An interesting thing about the flatbread – one day the women in the village all make huge amounts of the flatbread together that will last each family a very long time.<span style=""> </span>At any rate, it was absolutely delicious with some of their walnuts and honey on it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After breakfast, we headed to their orchard by the river to help them pick their peaches.<span style=""> </span>Before puiling into the van, Yasimin noticed Amanda’s sunburned neck and tied one of her headscarves on Amanda to protect her neck from the sun.<span style=""> </span>Yekta, Emily, and I followed suit in an attempt to protect our necks from getting sunburned in the first place.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhARBB0313bhOCdgEoJiAe9FS0prw9a2HT3fGUIe0wHUyMFUDQgWOsGaxd9a1xtuaEShHkDmx1LtIlGFf9TxhhV81yJ27tTc8EE3cB-HgFFFQrOtvibz_GMsEz6UIHA6WE0j0_g0aRGZU4/s1600-h/IMG_7536.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhARBB0313bhOCdgEoJiAe9FS0prw9a2HT3fGUIe0wHUyMFUDQgWOsGaxd9a1xtuaEShHkDmx1LtIlGFf9TxhhV81yJ27tTc8EE3cB-HgFFFQrOtvibz_GMsEz6UIHA6WE0j0_g0aRGZU4/s400/IMG_7536.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225489476783354850" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal">On our van ride down the mountain, Hasan provided us with some entertainment with his enthusiastic singing.<span style=""> </span>When we got there, Yasimin gave us a tour of the orchard which included peaches, cherries, walnuts, grapes, and probably a lot of other fruit that I’m forgetting.<span style=""> </span>We also saw their bees, and some serious bee drama went on and Hasan let us watch – the queen bee from one hive tried to move to another, taking her faction of worker bees with her.<span style=""> </span>It was very exciting, and Hasan shook them off the tree limb that they were on into his man-made honeycomb to transport them to one of his empty hives.<span style=""> </span>I got a little nervous about a bee flying down my throat or nose, so I adjusted my headscarf.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTsV1Oh_sKO-hk0tJJUepXERHKYK8E6enorpGz3Khn3jBKoV6_vrK3iaTgiFMyjLO79k4W68PzF4_ogxxj6st6p9uD9YuACMYZr7GLKSyBjaE8uNTD2-xB1PU_2waDzew6ad1RH1ehKjg/s1600-h/IMG_7580.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTsV1Oh_sKO-hk0tJJUepXERHKYK8E6enorpGz3Khn3jBKoV6_vrK3iaTgiFMyjLO79k4W68PzF4_ogxxj6st6p9uD9YuACMYZr7GLKSyBjaE8uNTD2-xB1PU_2waDzew6ad1RH1ehKjg/s400/IMG_7580.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225489497995812130" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">the beehives</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ6Bltfo-W_p1hCS0JMOIU__PrCB0R_vCIdTX82MiEp4SXUsgQgMf9XVBxWsw_vpR4aAhXTbjjElVyNujqsc0R7upBwrYi0FAY5lyAB9XueGYZuJf-v90YrCakfxDsbvqtchl2DyMp5UI/s1600-h/IMG_7606.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ6Bltfo-W_p1hCS0JMOIU__PrCB0R_vCIdTX82MiEp4SXUsgQgMf9XVBxWsw_vpR4aAhXTbjjElVyNujqsc0R7upBwrYi0FAY5lyAB9XueGYZuJf-v90YrCakfxDsbvqtchl2DyMp5UI/s400/IMG_7606.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225491031507662370" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">my headscarf keeping the bees out</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Afterwards, Hasan and Emine left us with Yasimin to sort out and pack the peaches into crates instead of picking them, since we didn’t know how to pick correctly like they did.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFuF5qnv1kCiTJ7ks7COCkhf5So0l6JIWuZ9murk-47w_iHyDKpJL-J0mv7qMLXgIJM2rVTFOluiBljwPMZrghqe135syik0cNcF7ODYSrHA1uV0v2OnYZaPkhbsOAjpa2_RIW8Hm4Bg/s1600-h/IMG_7549.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFuF5qnv1kCiTJ7ks7COCkhf5So0l6JIWuZ9murk-47w_iHyDKpJL-J0mv7qMLXgIJM2rVTFOluiBljwPMZrghqe135syik0cNcF7ODYSrHA1uV0v2OnYZaPkhbsOAjpa2_RIW8Hm4Bg/s400/IMG_7549.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225489491131946002" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">Yekta, Amanda, and Emily at the orchard</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb3HMjsTFYvTraxFXOPUaIc89PppGkUI133_sS4b-w3ewHs_cuNExKq7_nc2p2DuLaMH-xbYRixks-23zkWaKQxFWqZhBpyySeR_5xr2ZJTdQVOsCdVU1NE13wmYEOTyMoSYtjEzXL19g/s1600-h/IMG_7627.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb3HMjsTFYvTraxFXOPUaIc89PppGkUI133_sS4b-w3ewHs_cuNExKq7_nc2p2DuLaMH-xbYRixks-23zkWaKQxFWqZhBpyySeR_5xr2ZJTdQVOsCdVU1NE13wmYEOTyMoSYtjEzXL19g/s400/IMG_7627.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225489501087200674" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">carrying peaches</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib3Gyz-oiwOTVXJMl6MuusqEvZn6VCgqa_xiA7HCENCxb63wZpz4MEwKftBzvICrN3iDasABZ_4Za9g8iTNnnczFjVkIQLumPBQIkpiqR51ihIbC1ZWot5OnElPhGtYrzGeGFiraDrFv8/s1600-h/IMG_7592.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib3Gyz-oiwOTVXJMl6MuusqEvZn6VCgqa_xiA7HCENCxb63wZpz4MEwKftBzvICrN3iDasABZ_4Za9g8iTNnnczFjVkIQLumPBQIkpiqR51ihIbC1ZWot5OnElPhGtYrzGeGFiraDrFv8/s400/IMG_7592.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225489508858897426" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">Emine and Yasmin</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">We sorted and packed for a few hours, with Yasimin being far quicker and better at it than we were, and then it was time for lunch.<span style=""> </span>They set up a mini grill, and lit it with the wrappings of sugar cubes – ingenious kindling.<span style=""> </span>We had yet another delicious feast of watermelon, cucumbers, tomatoes, grilled chicken, fried squash, and pasta in a yogurt sauce.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTuc-Rou1lrQUudxLaFlkv08STF_hyphenhyphen8MRi5KUF4t1prRb9HrPY96POiaBdfd6Oa3TgdpYq5NJjcODrDtXRfhpJwToq_Rh4Vi2yGoksjZU6YPrf6106cgDEzD_XFRn3t5jsOVXFBAaeerg/s1600-h/IMG_7653.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTuc-Rou1lrQUudxLaFlkv08STF_hyphenhyphen8MRi5KUF4t1prRb9HrPY96POiaBdfd6Oa3TgdpYq5NJjcODrDtXRfhpJwToq_Rh4Vi2yGoksjZU6YPrf6106cgDEzD_XFRn3t5jsOVXFBAaeerg/s400/IMG_7653.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225491035396023698" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then Muammer and the rest of the Burch gang (minus the profs, because Sarah was busy writing a children’s book about Turkey for National Geographic) came to pick us up and take us to the river to swim.<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghtKlu-zKYUKwtJRuqN16L6FC2R3V2j53gKaVm06PQWKOz9LPI0VjPiIIhqmJRHtaFfo3gz6qMqaeCblrvTGD_dSdMY1Klgw77Qvi2xjUHEAzQZ4UquZd1bQLw8fNwQkh4DNvJAwdRVvE/s1600-h/IMG_7675.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghtKlu-zKYUKwtJRuqN16L6FC2R3V2j53gKaVm06PQWKOz9LPI0VjPiIIhqmJRHtaFfo3gz6qMqaeCblrvTGD_dSdMY1Klgw77Qvi2xjUHEAzQZ4UquZd1bQLw8fNwQkh4DNvJAwdRVvE/s400/IMG_7675.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225491071428918514" border="0" /></a>After a quick-change in the van, we headed down to the river and after skeptically looking at the fast-moving water, Clayton and I ventured across together to the rock where several others were waiting.<span style=""> </span>While we were sitting on a rock in the middle of the river, Muammer threw us peaches that Hasan and Emine had sent with us, and we had a little assembly line going throwing them to the others.<span style=""> </span>From there we headed further down the river and after some minor scrapes and bruises that came from hitting against the rocks, we emerged on the other side.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then the truly dangerous part of our adventure began – we attempted to climb up to the waterfall that was feeding the river.<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqPosVJ7DbmWeEpyyB_khGek_UmI1ONI7bJBcSzHQ_96WprpPHL1cqzyj5_62BqzWc5oe8JqyAETh3jmtj7hMg9pmpSUIvPXnvL1eOkl7k2mPg0-XxycTA2snMUMG1K7PalzatlZRPSO8/s1600-h/IMG_7670.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqPosVJ7DbmWeEpyyB_khGek_UmI1ONI7bJBcSzHQ_96WprpPHL1cqzyj5_62BqzWc5oe8JqyAETh3jmtj7hMg9pmpSUIvPXnvL1eOkl7k2mPg0-XxycTA2snMUMG1K7PalzatlZRPSO8/s400/IMG_7670.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225491066991784274" border="0" /></a>Hasan and Emine had warned us to “çok dikkat” (be very careful) because people had actually died trying to climb up into the waterfall.<span style=""> </span>It was a very treacherous slope, and after we made it into the canyon where the waterfall was, Muammer (and most of the rest of us) decided it was too dangerous to go any further.<span style=""> </span>Not to mention the water was freezing and we were in the shade, so we were almost hypothermic.<span style=""> </span>After that little adventure, we sat and ate watermelon in a nearby park and then got back in the van and headed to the village, with a brief stop along the way as the bus driver stopped to pick some sort of bush that he used to make tea.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hasan and Emine were in another town selling the peaches that we had helped them pack, so it was just Yasmin and us for dinner.<span style=""> </span>I helped with dinner by cooking these little pancake things that were absolutely delicious, if I do say so myself (Yasmin made the batter, I just flipped them).<span style=""> </span>After yet another delicious dinner, Yasmin showed us a bunch of pictures that she had received over the years from all the tourists that had come to stay with them.<span style=""> </span>It was amazing to me that this is how she saw the world – through other people’s pictures of their travels.<span style=""> </span>Without access to a library or the Internet (although she did have TV), these pictures were her only way to see things like London and the US.<span style=""> </span>After that, she showed us her dowry, which she and her mom had been working on since she was about 12.<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0854FnzpElTC8t8hMDssFanoyb0sRT1e2UAX0qQtKUu-hI_gCxDZQB8H72oRMRy30gfzdbJHgEGXwm0AU_kOqOy02ZjBrjXBEIM8AzGF_gCd9dRlmDzras85H0qL4xilYw_LEjefi_GI/s1600-h/IMG_7735.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0854FnzpElTC8t8hMDssFanoyb0sRT1e2UAX0qQtKUu-hI_gCxDZQB8H72oRMRy30gfzdbJHgEGXwm0AU_kOqOy02ZjBrjXBEIM8AzGF_gCd9dRlmDzras85H0qL4xilYw_LEjefi_GI/s400/IMG_7735.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225491071049684514" border="0" /></a>It was two huge trunks full of handmade things like knit booties, sweaters, embroidered headscarves and towels, and beaded headscarves.<span style=""> </span>She had even put the evil eye and backgammon set that we had given her in there.<span style=""> </span>I found it fascinating that people still upheld the tradition of having dowries, especially to the extent of working on it since the age of 12!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When we were finally almost ready for bed, Hasan and Emine came home and insisted on having another feast of fruit with us (we had just brushed our teeth).<span style=""> </span>Then it was time for bed in preparation for leaving the next day.</p>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-41572368057818632282008-07-18T06:07:00.000-07:002008-07-21T08:14:48.811-07:00Monday, June 23<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipN454WVUFU7m6K6apQsgTlS7pvQmC0-VyWg-AXE3rMpT8b5gGVNtxPHLjIVV5aWpV852LGV4ZonEeeUnBJI8ezk9D2Kn_5rDv-reu44lT1PTLudgLZWS1nqbgm-Q1LnUOdnJvCx04EXo/s1600-h/IMG_7371.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipN454WVUFU7m6K6apQsgTlS7pvQmC0-VyWg-AXE3rMpT8b5gGVNtxPHLjIVV5aWpV852LGV4ZonEeeUnBJI8ezk9D2Kn_5rDv-reu44lT1PTLudgLZWS1nqbgm-Q1LnUOdnJvCx04EXo/s400/IMG_7371.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225474364890599058" border="0" /></a>This morning we left for the village, Eşenler, where we are doing our homestays with a Turkish family.<span style=""> </span>Muammer and Mehmet, the carpet dealers from Konya, are from Eşenler, so Muammer came with us in our rented van to the village.<span style=""> </span>We made it out of our hotel around 10 AM after a discussion with the Prof over breakfast and a trip to the evil eye store.<span style=""> </span>The trip to the village took a few hours, and after dropping our luggage off at the place where Muammer and Mehmet sun-fade their <i style="">kilims</i> (woven, instead of knotted) carpets, we headed off to picnic with the supplies which our social chairs (Edward and Amanda) had bought for us in Konya. <p class="MsoNormal">We drove up the side of this rocky mountain, getting some good views of the village, and stopped at the edge of some sort of crop field, where we set up camp.<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihAtvAd31v2o4-AZ0yvYHEhOS8OkW_SPj0xdlDNr-JS_ba3xFCN6ciGCemub13fz8NIQCccAewGq2RyjGN8coVE0BcfV-Y2aZ4YMVzftdf-ThycLi2VBEWu6sbKRq5qb4Z1mLsWrxj4XQ/s1600-h/IMG_7386.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihAtvAd31v2o4-AZ0yvYHEhOS8OkW_SPj0xdlDNr-JS_ba3xFCN6ciGCemub13fz8NIQCccAewGq2RyjGN8coVE0BcfV-Y2aZ4YMVzftdf-ThycLi2VBEWu6sbKRq5qb4Z1mLsWrxj4XQ/s400/IMG_7386.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225474373676125378" border="0" /></a>We had a delicious lunch of bread, cheese, Tutkus (delicious Turkish cookies with a Nutella-like flilling), and SO much fruit.<span style=""> </span>Turkey has this melon which tastes like a honeydew and looks like it on the inside, but the outside looks like this:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwISSl4QeZBZPs0vzWIFGpm2sUG2O-pSdKfDW_kDj2plwtnOhJWH0WVYNF2GBt0VVOTzGeec9_w3TwslhxMVvsunP6bmAdhTjYgXQSO_6R0lawbsLvWKPi49iX7LoNMvMFhvAeW5vvzI/s1600-h/IMG_7390.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwISSl4QeZBZPs0vzWIFGpm2sUG2O-pSdKfDW_kDj2plwtnOhJWH0WVYNF2GBt0VVOTzGeec9_w3TwslhxMVvsunP6bmAdhTjYgXQSO_6R0lawbsLvWKPi49iX7LoNMvMFhvAeW5vvzI/s400/IMG_7390.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225475666367018194" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji8mgP81ZlirvhBX2UNtAneo6mVkBxh4TOJfsoD0PM1eytal-IJdvgSalm7OHNYHxVRntFy0OTR1MxyhkKkqXj518z7g_4rr9_JUQ-bxkGGqa5k4QJDoMahlZ1-3hJKbFO6AVyzxSGCZU/s1600-h/IMG_7389.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji8mgP81ZlirvhBX2UNtAneo6mVkBxh4TOJfsoD0PM1eytal-IJdvgSalm7OHNYHxVRntFy0OTR1MxyhkKkqXj518z7g_4rr9_JUQ-bxkGGqa5k4QJDoMahlZ1-3hJKbFO6AVyzxSGCZU/s400/IMG_7389.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225474373890914354" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">the weird melon<br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj607dqwhztEiGJOsZR0Mf-a_A7j0BJyDK_FhIO2Iu-xjDZQkL08jHnLHFSCcFznrACeQuc3qRcGkw3105OzQKdLZvdhJMmqxgUAvJ7P0gT5S1LKujFdCebJh5Row55nBbAwNFE2Sd9x74/s1600-h/IMG_7411.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj607dqwhztEiGJOsZR0Mf-a_A7j0BJyDK_FhIO2Iu-xjDZQkL08jHnLHFSCcFznrACeQuc3qRcGkw3105OzQKdLZvdhJMmqxgUAvJ7P0gT5S1LKujFdCebJh5Row55nBbAwNFE2Sd9x74/s400/IMG_7411.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225474380956802018" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2xqa1G7mefIu3H1tyQBIU_ZxgTdozXuGo6t324eRakDsHgJVk78HSWy7AuvXLPLJWOMvla-tx72ncvLKc4sFSJuzRzwFdaRgq3oRzLOh_h4K7FAX3bE7UfbGx5N4XDIHxPo6enOrV5_Y/s1600-h/IMG_7400.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2xqa1G7mefIu3H1tyQBIU_ZxgTdozXuGo6t324eRakDsHgJVk78HSWy7AuvXLPLJWOMvla-tx72ncvLKc4sFSJuzRzwFdaRgq3oRzLOh_h4K7FAX3bE7UfbGx5N4XDIHxPo6enOrV5_Y/s400/IMG_7400.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225474375212373522" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">the beautiful views that we had at lunch</span><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal">After lunch, we headed back to the village and Muammer gave us a tour of some orchards.</p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjieEACbLbYrIOZ-EuKww7nEmrI1sw2AOEzHjJnW04dTSxWvY0xeUvM048-gpojsP3WwC3bvWgTl1LKjNx98Z-KafaJDtMTd0aOmPybbfWL4ly6JzQ8c_zdmsIAkpt3xSxWn80JZ_E-z2Q/s1600-h/IMG_7426.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjieEACbLbYrIOZ-EuKww7nEmrI1sw2AOEzHjJnW04dTSxWvY0xeUvM048-gpojsP3WwC3bvWgTl1LKjNx98Z-KafaJDtMTd0aOmPybbfWL4ly6JzQ8c_zdmsIAkpt3xSxWn80JZ_E-z2Q/s400/IMG_7426.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225475668486643570" border="0" /></a><span style=""> </span><span style="font-style: italic;">walking down to the orchard</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6CoQbnTIR4Aq9haLzn2t30NDcp0bUuOyl3OflfPDBArHW55TXQHoZVSK9Jyg3MSuYHzbcWKBuvN1KcFRMTbTP0lCreubqqPLLha6Ka-6WxVxETIPxfzadBTf9rIQqLEbvJGIfbHsrrHY/s1600-h/IMG_7431.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6CoQbnTIR4Aq9haLzn2t30NDcp0bUuOyl3OflfPDBArHW55TXQHoZVSK9Jyg3MSuYHzbcWKBuvN1KcFRMTbTP0lCreubqqPLLha6Ka-6WxVxETIPxfzadBTf9rIQqLEbvJGIfbHsrrHY/s400/IMG_7431.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225475682459907154" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">Emily picking visne, or sour cherries</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">There, I was surprised to learn that there is more than one type of cherry – this orchard grew three.<span style=""> </span>“Regular” cherries that we have in the States, <i style="">visne</i>, or sour cherries, and what Muammer described as “man cherries” which are used to aid in the pollination of the other cherry trees.<span style=""> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqRQ9DBLTx7XEIX5iHfeeOrLpFpeGR_m87V6qVjDV_sbvsQDrAtChJKNOrtyflIf14Eusgsr0Qpz8TjMTBIyLHiRkDM5Xim2NettBAk3Gm32X-dI88qF8mTkar-xvBlW4L4Lp6spMxpq0/s1600-h/IMG_7442.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqRQ9DBLTx7XEIX5iHfeeOrLpFpeGR_m87V6qVjDV_sbvsQDrAtChJKNOrtyflIf14Eusgsr0Qpz8TjMTBIyLHiRkDM5Xim2NettBAk3Gm32X-dI88qF8mTkar-xvBlW4L4Lp6spMxpq0/s400/IMG_7442.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225475680549136434" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">the "man-cherries"</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">We also tried some incredibly sour <i style="">erik</i> (sour green plums).<span style=""> </span>These were far sourer than the <i style="">erik</i> we get in Istanbul, as is evident by the expression on my groupmates’ faces when trying this fruit.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSK2454AJjNkoZCPPBWrSlwx3Ase3VulWh7bFmR_rxjoAME2-L7LhU1EcgREM3fs5HWqWjH47GLWAJ0uQVeRZGBhLr_b7PnEeuTDBqxTgIt4-mXGiQvYjG3y3su1TijN0QsS5AFy6EW-A/s1600-h/IMG_7456.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSK2454AJjNkoZCPPBWrSlwx3Ase3VulWh7bFmR_rxjoAME2-L7LhU1EcgREM3fs5HWqWjH47GLWAJ0uQVeRZGBhLr_b7PnEeuTDBqxTgIt4-mXGiQvYjG3y3su1TijN0QsS5AFy6EW-A/s400/IMG_7456.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225475687154977442" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">David after trying the sour erik</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">We left the orchard and returned to the kilim-fading place, where there was some sort of mystic dwelling which I never quite figured out.<span style=""> </span>Even more mystically, they somehow had enough tea and tea glasses for the twelve of us and the fifteen or so villagers who came to welcome us!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-oTA-oCGkvZc0JtPqBczoWG8kAjWBD6jGxRy6e07ReobgimvDH6x3Q4VEcIAdj2mPo_1HJFFtfDz7EFhqqL-s9mLnX6_ed4pQ3JpO_tRnqQef3A_2RZzsuanxfciTAVgVOkZNwymYdV8/s1600-h/IMG_7474.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-oTA-oCGkvZc0JtPqBczoWG8kAjWBD6jGxRy6e07ReobgimvDH6x3Q4VEcIAdj2mPo_1HJFFtfDz7EFhqqL-s9mLnX6_ed4pQ3JpO_tRnqQef3A_2RZzsuanxfciTAVgVOkZNwymYdV8/s400/IMG_7474.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225477876171868594" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-nBiLkyuuVlxktvUfjk_N-N4fUrcllBKPb0arSgGS9L_9d0Rc6WJdiWi_B3pKAnfIGs8rfyVhXColdygCra6BA3dJ6YLwAgImZ0xid9bAmbfHrWpLBdzzWb_65Bko9TgCzqikK5nXjNE/s1600-h/IMG_7476.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-nBiLkyuuVlxktvUfjk_N-N4fUrcllBKPb0arSgGS9L_9d0Rc6WJdiWi_B3pKAnfIGs8rfyVhXColdygCra6BA3dJ6YLwAgImZ0xid9bAmbfHrWpLBdzzWb_65Bko9TgCzqikK5nXjNE/s400/IMG_7476.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225477882674662546" border="0" /></a><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I should probably stop here to explain a little more about the village.<span style=""> </span>Like I said, it’s the birthplace of Muammer and Mehmet, the two kilim dealers that are now located in Konya.<span style=""> </span>As I also stated in one of my earlier blog posts, they teach local Konyan women to weave, provide them with the raw materials including loom, and then pay the women directly instead of their male superior.<span style=""> </span>It is this same kilim business which has brought the village running water and electricity – Muammer and Mehmet teach the women of Esenler to weave, which brings the village extra revenue.<span style=""> </span>About ten years ago, they also started the exchange program that we were a part of – for 20 lira a night, you can stay with a Turkish family in their home and receive the best hospitality you will ever encounter.<span style=""> </span>This, of course, includes their delicious meals, with food that is pretty much all grown/made in the village.</p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal">After tea with the group of villagers, we all headed off to our respective homes.<span style=""> </span>Edward and Clayton stayed with one family; Kelly, Zoe, and the Profs stayed with another; and Kevin and David each stayed with different families.<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT20aIqZXjX-x7E906PLUHn0khAWQp4RqL3nMNMrpP3MudhrUicIozqYqdJxHYY9jRxN9kc3MtfduoBaDe7ZoBgA5cnU08guQf0ORnXMcdlu5Xjy7QjypFRJdPZ8mV6IH-DNLgsNbKtqA/s1600-h/IMG_7487.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT20aIqZXjX-x7E906PLUHn0khAWQp4RqL3nMNMrpP3MudhrUicIozqYqdJxHYY9jRxN9kc3MtfduoBaDe7ZoBgA5cnU08guQf0ORnXMcdlu5Xjy7QjypFRJdPZ8mV6IH-DNLgsNbKtqA/s400/IMG_7487.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225477885347351282" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">David heading down the road with his "dad"</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">We (Yekta, Emily, Amanda, and I) stayed with Hasan (dad), Emine (mom), and Yasimin (daughter).<span style=""> </span>I had spotted Yasimin when we were drinking tea with the villagers because of her beautiful headscarf and very warm and welcoming smile, and I was very excited to see her at the door of my future home for two days!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0OwyXxdGZDc0VUs4usX1Pd2nJfzQdYQVkaZoRNcBX2LrGRmeZSjIOWLuuyauuZJ8Dqkq7trKFdAcUAZBZtZs3Iresu-H6jsPy7QTvVC67PqVqEqY6QkDiH3XFOv5S0uX3oRjYzrc_oJA/s1600-h/IMG_7493.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0OwyXxdGZDc0VUs4usX1Pd2nJfzQdYQVkaZoRNcBX2LrGRmeZSjIOWLuuyauuZJ8Dqkq7trKFdAcUAZBZtZs3Iresu-H6jsPy7QTvVC67PqVqEqY6QkDiH3XFOv5S0uX3oRjYzrc_oJA/s400/IMG_7493.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225477889514765170" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">Yasmin pouring us tea at our home for the next two days</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpNqWDRvfN51IDjFW22kXSJlDy2RyI4NDVBPsB_dbUvmb70e5X-NGtWprEmXH1erDFwqh-ENVmT7YTfEGzWCw1e4_RoaUqp8gr8_RDUNw8HsS5eQ-6iYiG7DPgVW7Ja6b_Pw9ad0tylME/s1600-h/IMG_7494.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpNqWDRvfN51IDjFW22kXSJlDy2RyI4NDVBPsB_dbUvmb70e5X-NGtWprEmXH1erDFwqh-ENVmT7YTfEGzWCw1e4_RoaUqp8gr8_RDUNw8HsS5eQ-6iYiG7DPgVW7Ja6b_Pw9ad0tylME/s400/IMG_7494.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225477890748473138" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">Emine and Hasan</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">We went inside and got a tour.<span style=""> </span>Their house consisted of one large room that you walked into immediately after entering their house, which included a small sink and mirror and a linoleum place for shoes (in Turkish custom, you never wear shoes inside the house).<span style=""> </span>There was a bathroom (non-Western, or squatty potty, very clean), a shower room, a room for Hasan and Emine, a room for Yasimin, another room, and a kitchen/dining area.<span style=""> </span>After the tour, I turned to Amanda and said, “They have no furniture.”<span style=""> </span>She hadn’t noticed, and in fact, I realized that it had taken me awhile to figure that out too – I can’t peg the reason exactly, but for some reason it did not strike me as I walked in.<span style=""> </span>It’s not that the house was decorated – they barely had anything on the walls, but maybe it was because of the cushions all over the floor.<span style=""> </span>Instead of tables and chairs, they had cushions.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hasan led us into the room adjoining the entryway room (as you can tell, it is difficult to distinguish rooms from each other because of the lack of furniture – there was no office/study, living room, etc.) and had a feast of peaches, cherries, and apricots.<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinvB9Pud7SDs7RLf7Baluv3sm7ZPRHMQllyP-dv8RDnt-TJdoNoWA_fq_j8QxvxrQqSqz02RU41Kf2iSPmcYXrW0n8eXORJbhzkEE-Pyww6FqttFlMJxqEaWbGNvZEbpSlaDuvtaTuCnU/s1600-h/IMG_7495.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinvB9Pud7SDs7RLf7Baluv3sm7ZPRHMQllyP-dv8RDnt-TJdoNoWA_fq_j8QxvxrQqSqz02RU41Kf2iSPmcYXrW0n8eXORJbhzkEE-Pyww6FqttFlMJxqEaWbGNvZEbpSlaDuvtaTuCnU/s400/IMG_7495.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225485228802644578" border="0" /></a>All of the fruit came from their orchards, where we were going to the next day.<span style=""> </span>We also enjoyed great conversation – we were very thankful to have Yekta there who translated for us.<span style=""> </span>One of the most interesting topics of conversation was that Hasan asked about Yekta’s bloodline and ours.<span style=""> </span>Unlike in the Southern tradition of asking who your parents are (obviously, Hasan would have no idea in this case), he asked about our ancestors.<span style=""> </span>That obviously doesn’t mean a whole lot to Americans, who in many cases don’t know much about where exactly they came from – America pretty much cuts it for our country of origin, despite the fact that we (apart from Native American ancestors) all came from somewhere else.<span style=""> </span>It is a pretty interesting comparison to draw, especially in light of Turkey’s very layered history.</p> <p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal">After our feast of fruit, they showed us their terrace, where we got some great views of the village (including a little boy herding his cow) and met up with Zoe and Kelly, who were living next door.</p><p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu7cRdXGipbLqXnLONWAQ7m7l1KVRk2tOfeQRbNalcN1hX-GW1LFhJP1315DaYIPMWv5Qit2LP6oOxhAWl2OaatG3PsajGvXm5GENmkahZbRki0aQaRlYvSn890BKPMal5l-l5VDevK7I/s1600-h/IMG_7503.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu7cRdXGipbLqXnLONWAQ7m7l1KVRk2tOfeQRbNalcN1hX-GW1LFhJP1315DaYIPMWv5Qit2LP6oOxhAWl2OaatG3PsajGvXm5GENmkahZbRki0aQaRlYvSn890BKPMal5l-l5VDevK7I/s400/IMG_7503.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225485234791488978" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">Emily climbing up to the terrace with Emine looking on</span><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk74fEhIClULjyOJ9mXPNwxVZl5-X30SUkLLFvL7ElsLEhiZGtPsFfl7v8bhqri2eB3Gnn4-UAFuFuUSLDVcPAyC2GdDAgQ1R8C90f8Qu3qG7ESmfxnODLoi8oOY4EfKyVidxZAVRG50M/s1600-h/IMG_7496.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk74fEhIClULjyOJ9mXPNwxVZl5-X30SUkLLFvL7ElsLEhiZGtPsFfl7v8bhqri2eB3Gnn4-UAFuFuUSLDVcPAyC2GdDAgQ1R8C90f8Qu3qG7ESmfxnODLoi8oOY4EfKyVidxZAVRG50M/s400/IMG_7496.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225485232606424850" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">cattle herding<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjObfd1pX5wxXg2KWvFtdL2RV8oxGONXOsi1qpb93wsXs5ACTrXlJVn5RIAEADObtZhOFibVtAHKFVUWMVGLLBa6MjyAknkTlDZyCkeH__FSOftvxvW5GD7UjAvTQGcz1K9sXUQH4yHwdM/s1600-h/IMG_7513.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjObfd1pX5wxXg2KWvFtdL2RV8oxGONXOsi1qpb93wsXs5ACTrXlJVn5RIAEADObtZhOFibVtAHKFVUWMVGLLBa6MjyAknkTlDZyCkeH__FSOftvxvW5GD7UjAvTQGcz1K9sXUQH4yHwdM/s400/IMG_7513.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225485238609187522" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">Zoe helping pick vegetables for dinner</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Then it was time for dinner – an absolute feast again!<span style=""> </span>We had cucumbers, tomatoes, okra soup, green beans in tomato sauce, and chicken pilav.<span style=""> </span>Dinner is served in the most traditional sense of a traditional Turkish dinner – we sat on cushions on the floor with the food on a tray in the middle of us.<span style=""> </span>We each got a fork and a spoon for our utensils and a hunk of flatbread for our “plates” and started chowing down at the communal dishes.<span style=""> </span>They also served us Ayran, which is that Turkish yogurt drink.<span style=""> </span>It was homemade in the village along with everything else we ate, but unfortunately, it was absolutely disgusting.<span style=""> </span>I choked it down for politeness’ sake, but it tasted like spoiled buttermilk.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But dessert made up for it – delicious watermelon and honey from Hasan’s bees that he keeps at the orchard. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Another feast later, we sat again and chatted with our family until more villagers showed up, including our boys.<span style=""> </span>Interestingly, the women and men separated into different rooms – I’m not sure if that is just natural gravitation towards the same sex or if it has to do with tradition.<span style=""> </span>After we chatted for a bit, it was time for bed.<span style=""> </span>Hasan, Emine, and Yasimin all slept in the same room so as to give their four guests two separate rooms to sleep in – Turkish hospitality is truly mind-blowing. </p>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-68183291797520468902008-07-07T23:13:00.000-07:002008-07-11T07:16:05.108-07:00Saturday/Sunday, June 21/22<b style="">Saturday<o:p></o:p></b> <p class="MsoNormal">We left Egirdir this morning around 10ish after a slight miscommunication about the location of the Fez bus resulting in David having to claim 80% of the seats on the bus with various articles of his luggage which in turn led to several disgruntled Fez travelers.<span style=""> </span>We met up with our Kiwi friends on the bus, but unfortunately our wonderful tour guide Amanda was touring in the southwest of Turkey.<span style=""> </span>We arrived in Konya around 3:30 starving as is the norm of our group, and sat down to a lunch of <i style="">etliekmek</i>, a local specialty that is similar to thin crust pizza without the cheese.<span style=""> </span>Afterwards, we met up with another rug-dealer friend of Prof. Shields in his shop and had another local specialty – <i style="">alta cay</i>, or mountain herbal tea.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoFN-4QBFxc42dp-rEHsaK5pbsQY94Rw8RdxNfSfeNgxtGwMDSTVeCo-KfjJTu5huecIP3qbkaRywx7-IUcJ-Czd4wGLLKbdD_N541ijziFwIIOYuIsPZxNAPc1Co_N5X1UpqeBpBnJ0Y/s1600-h/IMG_6946.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoFN-4QBFxc42dp-rEHsaK5pbsQY94Rw8RdxNfSfeNgxtGwMDSTVeCo-KfjJTu5huecIP3qbkaRywx7-IUcJ-Czd4wGLLKbdD_N541ijziFwIIOYuIsPZxNAPc1Co_N5X1UpqeBpBnJ0Y/s400/IMG_6946.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220643633217818482" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mehmet, the carpet dealer, has a unique mission with his rugs, which are mainly <i style="">kilims</i>, or woven instead of knotted rugs.<span style=""> </span>He teaches local women in Konya (and the village where he’s from where we’re going after Konya) how to weave, provides them with raw materials including loom, and then pays them directly.<span style=""> </span>The fact that he pays the women directly and not their male superior is quite remarkable and gives them an incredible amount of empowerment that we take for granted in the US.<span style=""> </span>He also works with natural dyes, which is fairly uncommon in Turkey.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So Mehmet took us to see some of the local weavers at their homes.<span style=""> </span>I’m sure we looked very odd – a huge van full of Americans pulling up into these very residential neighborhoods and then piling out of the van and into a random house.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2EryelD8KI4FLEcEpSHrNqQnlDZrn4x4Gx1Z9I3-KHEQ8ZIDTuqMeXWmVTi_B_7tc3WC_Tz1b0DubfqmRxkaZBlH-Ys-94MIJ0L-vYi-UqI3Jq3XmyBXJLwQQkY2XEyvx9wF4rmT8xI/s1600-h/IMG_6960.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2EryelD8KI4FLEcEpSHrNqQnlDZrn4x4Gx1Z9I3-KHEQ8ZIDTuqMeXWmVTi_B_7tc3WC_Tz1b0DubfqmRxkaZBlH-Ys-94MIJ0L-vYi-UqI3Jq3XmyBXJLwQQkY2XEyvx9wF4rmT8xI/s400/IMG_6960.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221744725093968242" border="0" /></a></p> <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">a woman weaving a kilim</span><br /></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaUCGcBHaA8Ndw_xXuMWN4eVdgu-7tJNzE9dmI2UN9XjkkUPFqCIxneglKZ7fm9tbvBGCUhgF9qG6Wfk_4cHLLltHsqBeCLpl45za-zNCf8ecXM60PmUMJAgHIfyqvyQl49gclKXZp5vo/s1600-h/IMG_6964.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaUCGcBHaA8Ndw_xXuMWN4eVdgu-7tJNzE9dmI2UN9XjkkUPFqCIxneglKZ7fm9tbvBGCUhgF9qG6Wfk_4cHLLltHsqBeCLpl45za-zNCf8ecXM60PmUMJAgHIfyqvyQl49gclKXZp5vo/s400/IMG_6964.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220643640772468482" border="0" /></a></p> <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">a little girl that lived at the house where we watched the woman weave</span><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal">After seeing the weaving, we went to the place where he experiments with natural dyes.<span style=""> </span>He had huge vats full of dye and enormous amounts of already dyed yarns hanging everywhere.<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqoWP13fGuZrqjOOgJzf4nQfJNB594UkXjrNWtNLR12ATnslbmYhOfgCvnCzAGo-4O0eLClohz6EZgPur6ZMFWFR_zWeafp2tR3qQt35ILvEeUBgyiiW5PDC817mLL38_iJkXfQbE-1Z8/s1600-h/IMG_6988.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqoWP13fGuZrqjOOgJzf4nQfJNB594UkXjrNWtNLR12ATnslbmYhOfgCvnCzAGo-4O0eLClohz6EZgPur6ZMFWFR_zWeafp2tR3qQt35ILvEeUBgyiiW5PDC817mLL38_iJkXfQbE-1Z8/s400/IMG_6988.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220643649922950306" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-anlPu1nkSKV7qcUl_BvGKZrGg5reLPFO4SsnulFpQyYal05_WSuIYkocSBi_v-S9xNxqQMvtytFLzv371UnCO6yFyVKTn_bubWGF17CjfXuz9pfyJ2PWbWv7niG0DNMnkM2xWZKKn-I/s1600-h/IMG_7019.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-anlPu1nkSKV7qcUl_BvGKZrGg5reLPFO4SsnulFpQyYal05_WSuIYkocSBi_v-S9xNxqQMvtytFLzv371UnCO6yFyVKTn_bubWGF17CjfXuz9pfyJ2PWbWv7niG0DNMnkM2xWZKKn-I/s400/IMG_7019.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221744719393417074" border="0" /></a><br />His dyeing place was also in a residential neighborhood where a huge group of kids were playing on the street.<span style=""> </span>After a few rounds of the usual “Hello!”s that we hear all the time, we motioned for them to come over and took a lot of pictures of them, which they loved.<span style=""> </span>There was also a cow roaming around that was in desperate need of a milking, and a kitten that Zoe instantly befriended.<span style=""> </span>All very normal everyday things to see in Turkey.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix9I2D9dRg3GYFfD7c5QC5JDjSSiLlEMvFz1Me7Ej1ipEpmYp8GWf_DZGdevwOmGHuLF9szacreTOqKWMQ9tPogUXBzwq-PaZ5q9wAW4Gj7qVuHdJS1aG4UCW-Toc90BprdwVKzPbekfs/s1600-h/IMG_7046.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix9I2D9dRg3GYFfD7c5QC5JDjSSiLlEMvFz1Me7Ej1ipEpmYp8GWf_DZGdevwOmGHuLF9szacreTOqKWMQ9tPogUXBzwq-PaZ5q9wAW4Gj7qVuHdJS1aG4UCW-Toc90BprdwVKzPbekfs/s400/IMG_7046.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221757547522100178" border="0" /></a></p> <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">the cow desperately in need of a milking</span></div> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgheyVdwGXwf_jyO1EASWjMo3Ve4W3d6S6sVKsFXGW-8BXqzMgM-A7dPGgXCDc6fsQ4Xip5noLAGgL7cBH0prP-sXUm86GxDJwDa2FAiwjTG-aFnpMOk7yE2LWcYbVIz-FC4XLD8vEWJJM/s1600-h/IMG_6983.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgheyVdwGXwf_jyO1EASWjMo3Ve4W3d6S6sVKsFXGW-8BXqzMgM-A7dPGgXCDc6fsQ4Xip5noLAGgL7cBH0prP-sXUm86GxDJwDa2FAiwjTG-aFnpMOk7yE2LWcYbVIz-FC4XLD8vEWJJM/s400/IMG_6983.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220643645623112370" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">kids in the neighborhood</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1C0MRAUUo3L5rKGLRRzUYnlrbnaFzeim9ciPxDJltQzWMZoePatUvMXx4WLw2qdjA1mqTtMfbvUSL5XzF-1weQD22XFPRc-utW8v5is92BYvg43zMaEnxD51vgq_p5OUSvnLoCEeWru4/s1600-h/editedIMG_7068.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1C0MRAUUo3L5rKGLRRzUYnlrbnaFzeim9ciPxDJltQzWMZoePatUvMXx4WLw2qdjA1mqTtMfbvUSL5XzF-1weQD22XFPRc-utW8v5is92BYvg43zMaEnxD51vgq_p5OUSvnLoCEeWru4/s400/editedIMG_7068.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220643616763419938" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">a group of gypsy women that we saw on the highway</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">After that it was a quick dinner – for us doner in a restaurant that boasted a frieze of a doner man, then on to seeing the whirling dervishes.<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAkTLEJvfVNi8LCHbHyGudzWSKE0W1dTbPhOW96fSTimOZv9psTBDsmmSQM0ii-73Wbw9Y90o818lPzgKu6Eq_1Cy8vOIMDc32__yIBqdXr2hZpm9jUw8U8zMkh5qEP2lJsk-srhBXueI/s1600-h/IMG_7071.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAkTLEJvfVNi8LCHbHyGudzWSKE0W1dTbPhOW96fSTimOZv9psTBDsmmSQM0ii-73Wbw9Y90o818lPzgKu6Eq_1Cy8vOIMDc32__yIBqdXr2hZpm9jUw8U8zMkh5qEP2lJsk-srhBXueI/s400/IMG_7071.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221757555038175794" border="0" /></a>As I have explained earlier, the whirling dervishes are part of a sect of Islam called Sufi.<span style=""> </span>The practice of the whirling dervishes arose from the teachings of Mevlana, or Rumi, who is actually a bestselling poet in the US.<span style=""> </span>Under the rule of Ataturk, whirling dervishes as part of a religious ritual were outlawed, but they were allowed to continue as long as it could be considered a folk dance – aka, open to the public to watch.<span style=""> </span>So after our experience with <i style="">sema</i> (the name of the ritual in which the whirling takes place) in Istanbul, it was very interesting to see the dervishes from the viewpoint of a performance.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIihBYuf48frxJGlFh16UiCFr9qkDfKPJQrHfX7n7bQM2bTr_SMjxJSTwTGByaOJ4cSvMPrhV4SpTHHuwyKpSdLz_YnArrD9OSUlL10nPBJ6HfWayAPdeGCtlS1COBLTKtWkmNQlGSLMU/s1600-h/IMG_7139.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIihBYuf48frxJGlFh16UiCFr9qkDfKPJQrHfX7n7bQM2bTr_SMjxJSTwTGByaOJ4cSvMPrhV4SpTHHuwyKpSdLz_YnArrD9OSUlL10nPBJ6HfWayAPdeGCtlS1COBLTKtWkmNQlGSLMU/s400/IMG_7139.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221744737388552130" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But it seemed it wasn’t just a performance – Muammer told us that 50% of the audience was Konyans who came to the performance as if it were an actual <i style="">sema</i>.<span style=""> </span>The leader of the dervishes prayed at the end, and almost everyone in the audience also prayed.<span style=""> </span>So I’m not sure how much of a “folkdance” it actually is.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">Sunday</b></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We had a very interesting sleep which included most of us waking up to the sunrise (about 5 AM) call to prayer and Emily not waking up but sitting straight up in bed.<span style=""> </span>Today we went to a record number of mosques and museums – I think it was somewhere around 4 mosques, 3 museums, and 2 tombs.<span style=""> </span>In one of the mosques we went to was the tomb of Shems, Rumi’s friend and teacher, and there we had several interesting experiences.<span style=""> </span>First, we experienced the perpetual Turkish hospitality by the proprietor of the mosque, who offered us lokum (Turkish delight), Mevlana sekeri (this candy that comes from Konya), and lemon cologne, and also told us to please go upstairs and check the mosque out from that vantage point.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-yOlhBcUyeveFrWTnaECfJUK2a8fHKUkEkd6Ib7tjWjfSu4djjBuztj2JqamkbYQ1aJt7KAA2yQB8XHj6r-UKNbkQEAxF0boHWHdMTOgMQOmgH4h0BJjbl6SAKLcpJJCiUK6evYf1umQ/s1600-h/IMG_7228.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-yOlhBcUyeveFrWTnaECfJUK2a8fHKUkEkd6Ib7tjWjfSu4djjBuztj2JqamkbYQ1aJt7KAA2yQB8XHj6r-UKNbkQEAxF0boHWHdMTOgMQOmgH4h0BJjbl6SAKLcpJJCiUK6evYf1umQ/s400/IMG_7228.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221759910761131666" border="0" /></a><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What an interesting vantage point it was – there we saw a woman who apparently had a very emotional experience.<span style=""> </span>She yelled “Allah!” and ran towards Shems’ tomb, where she kneeled and it looked as if she were seizing.<span style=""> </span>It was interesting because the women that were with her were trying to get her to stop and were almost laughing about the whole thing.<span style=""> </span>Muammer told us that Mevlana (Rumi) would not approve of such an act because according to his teachings, one’s emotions are not supposed to govern their actions.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">My favorite mosque of the day was the Alaaddin Mosque, which was very different from any mosque we have seen yet.<span style=""> </span>First of all, it had a large opening to the side of the mosque instead of in front of the <i style="">mihrab</i> (which points towards Mecca).<span style=""> </span>Also, it was full of columns and arches, and the columns were from ruins so they were all different.<span style=""> </span>The tiles on the ceiling were also absolutely gorgeous.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTn8Szv3eXtldvHwas8oodgcsOyonOEymORH0b0p41RoXYK65hemPxoeTMLVipBM_oKqJeN-K-dYVf_R4sdNPmyFcIXp8eWLzyeKzupx7ctrngu5xMxJPn1CM-vieookugNwox6BoBw70/s1600-h/IMG_7069.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTn8Szv3eXtldvHwas8oodgcsOyonOEymORH0b0p41RoXYK65hemPxoeTMLVipBM_oKqJeN-K-dYVf_R4sdNPmyFcIXp8eWLzyeKzupx7ctrngu5xMxJPn1CM-vieookugNwox6BoBw70/s400/IMG_7069.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221744734172426130" border="0" /></a></p> <div style="text-align: center;">We also went to Rumi’s tomb which also had a museum attached to it.<span style=""> </span>The most interesting thing about Rumi’s tomb was the music that was playing – most sacred places that we have visited so far do not have music playing in them at all, but music was very important to Rumi and to the Sufi sect.<span style=""> </span>Unlike Shems’ far less impressive tomb, we did not witness any extreme emotional experiences at Rumi’s tomb.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWwzXQe4iJGj50vzu0X_YQS3EYgrphtVv283F59Ar_yWHrJk1VhuixWBMAgfqK4eWlSMiRf7yb4Xh_pCJaz32BDvceeDYiajCqLZXXtfvJTIesBiFo2EYcL4rvjbEVUXn7vLOTks16NbU/s1600-h/IMG_7073.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWwzXQe4iJGj50vzu0X_YQS3EYgrphtVv283F59Ar_yWHrJk1VhuixWBMAgfqK4eWlSMiRf7yb4Xh_pCJaz32BDvceeDYiajCqLZXXtfvJTIesBiFo2EYcL4rvjbEVUXn7vLOTks16NbU/s400/IMG_7073.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221757562462945042" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Rumi's tomb at night<br /></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After a short sleep, we headed to a traditional Turkish dinner with Muammer.<span style=""> </span>Well, it was kind of traditional in that we did sit on the ground on cushions and ate at a low table, but we each ordered separate meals instead of having group dishes.<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglpsRKaQo38nIsEqNRE7dC5PCp47t7RB_BBUZOfg6-wwpRkZ_0VSZ87TiPxiLkpXaamdKKXPJGD6CkC_1BX4diK6KlVc5x3fEA8WDE7xeQxkzt7VUSZMek1sm30ODHciQ7jHl0vKzrIhU/s1600-h/IMG_7360.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglpsRKaQo38nIsEqNRE7dC5PCp47t7RB_BBUZOfg6-wwpRkZ_0VSZ87TiPxiLkpXaamdKKXPJGD6CkC_1BX4diK6KlVc5x3fEA8WDE7xeQxkzt7VUSZMek1sm30ODHciQ7jHl0vKzrIhU/s400/IMG_7360.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221744744545365074" border="0" /></a>It was absolutely delicious, and we learned more about Muammer.<span style=""> </span>He married a German girl after directing her to her hotel in Konya about ten years ago.<span style=""> </span>The best part – their common language is English and neither of them are native speakers.<span style=""> </span>It was amazing to me that they have been able to build such a relationship despite the language barrier.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I have to mention one of the most interesting things about Konya –the extreme amounts of circumcision celebrations and weddings that we saw.<span style=""> </span>There were so many processions with little boys dressed in their king outfits and cars all decked out in wedding decorations.<span style=""> </span>They especially liked to drive around the traffic circle right next to our hotel honking their horns and banging on pots and pans.<span style=""> </span>It was almost as loud as the call to prayer that basically went on inside our room at 5 AM.</p>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-66554495763157283152008-07-07T05:17:00.000-07:002008-07-07T05:30:19.950-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWEs6E_sVgtKCw42CfDWccB7STP85A_s2v_8E58GZayGKrKOvt4WG8bqW5ZzFnOPtoZab5p8JVcSGWan0XnMou05LlnMRzWaB1cuHPwGf6LJH5eDqAE364VFLcl7MrrweXKHzVCYI6NM/s1600-h/IMG_6724.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWEs6E_sVgtKCw42CfDWccB7STP85A_s2v_8E58GZayGKrKOvt4WG8bqW5ZzFnOPtoZab5p8JVcSGWan0XnMou05LlnMRzWaB1cuHPwGf6LJH5eDqAE364VFLcl7MrrweXKHzVCYI6NM/s400/IMG_6724.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220246179554176386" border="0" /></a><br />Friday June 20 <p class="MsoNormal">Today was Nature Day.<span style=""> </span>We went up from Egirdir to a national park where you can apparently see various woodland creatures and also leopards.<span style=""> </span>We didn’t see much of either here, but did get some nice views of another lake.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS-7ABYlEHsTPDZm1JTlwv2vmthnBfy0svqf2Bps-d5KnpKhyphenhyphenKcTXqqwD17gD-yknzFaCsUEwj9-NfAhkwolWl792xc_aqsIlsNh1s-ekSmnk3e1jbXpKJfpGSSU_DLIenkMbVxQ6Xad8/s1600-h/IMG_6717.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS-7ABYlEHsTPDZm1JTlwv2vmthnBfy0svqf2Bps-d5KnpKhyphenhyphenKcTXqqwD17gD-yknzFaCsUEwj9-NfAhkwolWl792xc_aqsIlsNh1s-ekSmnk3e1jbXpKJfpGSSU_DLIenkMbVxQ6Xad8/s400/IMG_6717.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220246175359103906" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After that, we headed up the mountain further to walk the King’s Highway.<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2LAIAswrfunko8UDHliK6ygDmYp_xaD70XIobC7jVR98J10LSJNrFr4SjQXUcOxsoe4cuSk2k4CAaE3d8fkbvfxxamAsa-VZklTMMgXKXbmBKqY_Gt0IYp_BBYAlRt1pf7PE6PvFKgQ/s1600-h/IMG_6777.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2LAIAswrfunko8UDHliK6ygDmYp_xaD70XIobC7jVR98J10LSJNrFr4SjQXUcOxsoe4cuSk2k4CAaE3d8fkbvfxxamAsa-VZklTMMgXKXbmBKqY_Gt0IYp_BBYAlRt1pf7PE6PvFKgQ/s400/IMG_6777.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220246189878502546" border="0" /></a>This road was an important trade route and way to transport soldiers during Roman times.<span style=""> </span>After a hike up a very treacherous trail which I almost fell to my death twice, we walked over a very rickety iron bridge and onto the King’s Highway.<span style=""> </span>The first thing we saw was some Roman graffiti on the side of the marble cliff and an altar-looking thing complete with what appeared to be a basin for water that trickled from the cliff.<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAW1zD5C-HtRiUhtv1nyBXJdEtH2J8E-Y8EIXi77nPaGxy5Gp-1pjiAXsjPGOP0EN2P8neLi94TyjpYl9EvtcCknDDdBkVBtANQmLednUBTSAyk7og1G15-YtiegXB7ft_rwuD5XafdVs/s1600-h/IMG_6773.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAW1zD5C-HtRiUhtv1nyBXJdEtH2J8E-Y8EIXi77nPaGxy5Gp-1pjiAXsjPGOP0EN2P8neLi94TyjpYl9EvtcCknDDdBkVBtANQmLednUBTSAyk7og1G15-YtiegXB7ft_rwuD5XafdVs/s400/IMG_6773.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220246189399669506" border="0" /></a>A much easier walk thanks to several millennia of use, I didn’t trip at all.<span style=""> </span>All along the way, there was a beautiful river with the clearest water I have ever seen, and after a bit, we found our spot.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMDKjL64YTWc4yPydRVCDQenG5QcYwRtbeHMZ35VG5prDVcIDBZyQQvVie2SU0MKp-UPSHsAHe7fr3MsPzJuU3cY99NKIxjEH06qjm2Yuo-9hosfJTYNlp-nw1SLcQ-dNkBCHTgFjj1K0/s1600-h/IMG_6755.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMDKjL64YTWc4yPydRVCDQenG5QcYwRtbeHMZ35VG5prDVcIDBZyQQvVie2SU0MKp-UPSHsAHe7fr3MsPzJuU3cY99NKIxjEH06qjm2Yuo-9hosfJTYNlp-nw1SLcQ-dNkBCHTgFjj1K0/s400/IMG_6755.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220246184584816370" border="0" /></a><span style=""> </span>David and I struck out to trailblaze the way to get to it (it was kind of difficult to get to from the road).<span style=""> </span>We finally found a path amidst the rocks, pools, and cliffs which included a lot of climbing and a little falling, and the rest of the group followed.</p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal">This place was a secret grotto – it reminded me of the picture on the Fiji water bottles.<span style=""> </span>A deep pool that we never touched the bottom of was surrounded by huge rocks, a 30-ft waterfall, and tons of oleanders.<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqQem2pRogwkWj16p3uU3ClxnC4p0FF-BRVOrVQT2svvWl5lcHHQ1PYZZsoZ-l9ggkJ-yQWKVu5GMgESXFEV8NdnO_fDBBwTlHbLizgSGWHUBpqfZ9cBpFWeaLb3GybqoB-kdi_JHdv6g/s1600-h/IMG_6790.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqQem2pRogwkWj16p3uU3ClxnC4p0FF-BRVOrVQT2svvWl5lcHHQ1PYZZsoZ-l9ggkJ-yQWKVu5GMgESXFEV8NdnO_fDBBwTlHbLizgSGWHUBpqfZ9cBpFWeaLb3GybqoB-kdi_JHdv6g/s400/IMG_6790.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220246969088411554" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Our waterfall</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">And the water was the most beautiful turquoise blue – it looked like it could be in the Caribbean.<span style=""> </span>Edward, true to form, found the highest things to jump off of, which included a 14-ft rock and a 30-ft one also.<span style=""> </span>Most of our group jumped off of the 14-ft one (Amanda after some coaxing from David), but only Edward, me, Zoe, David, and Kevin jumped off of the 30-ft one.<span style=""> </span>It was amazing, and although the water was absolutely frigid, we swam around, jumped, and lounged on sunbaked rocks jutting out from the pool for about 2 -1/2 hours.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOIvxP_kJRhYzSLYXOFHosUbX9wWIOrkykgS2G6gcC_aEVfQd8Q9JR2Yf1_LlNYCMKL9KoLA16dMbI8ee94IEZb1wUyE3OYbjl8Aset4Ksix6lj625WVdpBA8VkPoj_2o8hoj7rK2axDs/s1600-h/IMG_6797.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOIvxP_kJRhYzSLYXOFHosUbX9wWIOrkykgS2G6gcC_aEVfQd8Q9JR2Yf1_LlNYCMKL9KoLA16dMbI8ee94IEZb1wUyE3OYbjl8Aset4Ksix6lj625WVdpBA8VkPoj_2o8hoj7rK2axDs/s400/IMG_6797.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220246972844655458" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">Yekta and Edward jumping off the smaller rock - the bigger one is behind it.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh62jcRxQzQ70X_yebfsqT1ixFCns83x9Hqqw0cVmxRzSF8JMeo2TW4-Y7-yQ5UpLP1rttf_JTANkivJuFlxoOuFWYrq3DNtK97xT-eu091bXd2wwfse_7DwFqX-RLjGqPyI4UlpaAs4Z4/s1600-h/IMG_6804.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh62jcRxQzQ70X_yebfsqT1ixFCns83x9Hqqw0cVmxRzSF8JMeo2TW4-Y7-yQ5UpLP1rttf_JTANkivJuFlxoOuFWYrq3DNtK97xT-eu091bXd2wwfse_7DwFqX-RLjGqPyI4UlpaAs4Z4/s400/IMG_6804.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220246970925544898" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">all of us in our grotto</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Then we headed up to where the profs were, bottled some natural spring water at the source, and had a discussion about Turkish tourism.<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZVNzdYmLQTBtmD_WXyfCV2B__XqzZ5xvTO8Gior4HLSgSO-zdDNTEo3mGq_bFrci42TbJl0tf08n-yTiNLBj3_IkfqLSPd0FyQNAmTDi887rknH3i-dzyVYHG1fIly1RnFBXpWC56LFc/s1600-h/IMG_6813.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZVNzdYmLQTBtmD_WXyfCV2B__XqzZ5xvTO8Gior4HLSgSO-zdDNTEo3mGq_bFrci42TbJl0tf08n-yTiNLBj3_IkfqLSPd0FyQNAmTDi887rknH3i-dzyVYHG1fIly1RnFBXpWC56LFc/s400/IMG_6813.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220246981778462562" border="0" /></a>Or the lack thereof in this area – like the lake, there was absolutely no one around.<span style=""> </span>I literally did not see anyone else the entire day.<span style=""> </span>Our group was torn between the revenue that a thriving tourism industry would bring Turkey and also the possibility of the sense of national identity that it could bring to Turkish tourists and the idea of thousands of people ruining this pristine place.<span style=""> </span>We thought of Pamukkale, where the huge tourist industry had to be shut down and re-managed because of the damage that was done to the environment.<span style=""> </span>Leaving the problem unsolved, we hiked back down the mountain and headed back to our pension.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC0llc3i_9rvaEKCH2rrXonvvuRoBBUvJ1esJHtbYrWk0niDFflo2a634I_WhqxQzqcR6mRFenPRgWiqsTrIq5wxmmHDXV7l_uIDD1FviYGQUvZgfESWG4cNpvFRjyjFIgsVV_Rm6fj1Q/s1600-h/IMG_6812.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC0llc3i_9rvaEKCH2rrXonvvuRoBBUvJ1esJHtbYrWk0niDFflo2a634I_WhqxQzqcR6mRFenPRgWiqsTrIq5wxmmHDXV7l_uIDD1FviYGQUvZgfESWG4cNpvFRjyjFIgsVV_Rm6fj1Q/s400/IMG_6812.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220246978285125330" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">an appropriate hiking outfit for Egirdir, complete with camera</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">We enjoyed a lovely dinner on the top floor of the pension overlooking the lake, and then we tried to find a place to watch Turkey play Croatia in the Euro Cup.<span style=""> </span>Like Pamukkale, Egirdir is tiny – our waiter at lunch on Thursday told us that there was really no where to watch the game.<span style=""> </span>Not believing him, we braved the weirdly strong winds all the way to the island, but alas, we did not find a suitable sports bar complete with a bunch of Turks.<span style=""> </span>So we headed back to the pension to watch it at least with the three Turks that worked there.<span style=""> </span>Like the match against the Czech Republic, the first half was very boring.<span style=""> </span>Actually the first two halves were boring, with the game ending in a 0-0 tie.<span style=""> </span>Then it was time for two 15-minute halves, which were also boring until the last minute of the extra time, when Croatia scored.<span style=""> </span>We thought it was over, but the drama-loving Turks had other ideas.<span style=""> </span>In the stoppage time of the extra time, Turkey scored, tying Croatia again and forcing the game into penalty kicks.<span style=""> </span>Already pumped, we screamed for joy when Croatia missed their first PK, and then their third.<span style=""> </span>Turkey then went on to score their first three, and when Turkey’s back-up goalie (their number one goalie was out due to a red card in the last match), blocked Croatia’s fourth PK, Turkey’s victory and our elation was secured.<span style=""> </span>We pined for the craziness that we knew was going on in Taksim Square as we watched the pitiful rioting of about seven cars driving around the town and island, honking their horns.<span style=""> </span>Go to http://euro08.sportsnet.tsn.ca/ and you’ll see that Turkey is the talk of the Euro Cup 2008 – it is extremely cool to be able to be in Turkey during their crazy run to the quarterfinals!<span style=""> </span>They play Germany on Wednesday, and if its anything like the other games, it will be very interesting.<span style=""> </span>Even if it is only the last few minutes that are exciting.</p>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-45296218854534260232008-07-02T23:18:00.000-07:002008-07-07T05:17:46.278-07:00Thursday, June 19<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimUtWAwnb-VLla7w_2lS2r5kN5k1yqTlWPYVZTQZuqcCvtFn9QVWjVE28jmQFjhOD5AFGAe53CeTNGps8otL9tEaiJbhkTHJSvsBGxWGI2VJxgDJlHPo5uhDyRgS1XK2uDssoUBXC-RtA/s1600-h/IMG_6632.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimUtWAwnb-VLla7w_2lS2r5kN5k1yqTlWPYVZTQZuqcCvtFn9QVWjVE28jmQFjhOD5AFGAe53CeTNGps8otL9tEaiJbhkTHJSvsBGxWGI2VJxgDJlHPo5uhDyRgS1XK2uDssoUBXC-RtA/s400/IMG_6632.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218675871546075154" border="0" /></a><br />Today we left Pamukkale for Egirdir.<span style=""> </span>This was quite an adventure – we took a private minibus from Pamukkale to Denizli in order to catch a public bus to Pamukkale.<span style=""> </span>Along the way, our driver stopped for no apparent reason other than to say hi to a buddy of his that he saw.<span style=""> </span>Also, the driver of our public bus stopped randomly on the side of the road to let some passengers off.<span style=""> </span>Turkish bus drivers are very interesting. <p class="MsoNormal">We made it to Egirdir and after a trek uphill to our hostel (Lale Pension), we decided to go walk around town and get some lunch. After some very creative and complimentary (thanks to our token Turk, Yekta) appetizers, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqJkN8N6PpUDPeNlkofDixWLP18PjiTLxOmuOCoUJytwHYL_bIuPbuQCCfXT8ZwtkuEI1ZP9WTpUFVEjPqJi8GMHQeWNTXUFDY_uF90mq5rDjl57PvAB-GudbuXELrq70Gwhnvj4y3Y0/s1600-h/IMG_6648.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqJkN8N6PpUDPeNlkofDixWLP18PjiTLxOmuOCoUJytwHYL_bIuPbuQCCfXT8ZwtkuEI1ZP9WTpUFVEjPqJi8GMHQeWNTXUFDY_uF90mq5rDjl57PvAB-GudbuXELrq70Gwhnvj4y3Y0/s400/IMG_6648.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218675880314837362" border="0" /></a>we walked around the market and saw some very interesting things.<br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8dE9G1JqGctyn9-GYwL1lcbPRFIcqTXZTJgpeM6ai1EmMchsllVjzMtYBqbC3vmVWHtesVLA0L_4ooqyiFmfJYcnyYIoydeZDJoKFrbCkhlfKC1ciHRYwj9GxBWWrhdH2VpViYD4dR4w/s1600-h/IMG_6642.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8dE9G1JqGctyn9-GYwL1lcbPRFIcqTXZTJgpeM6ai1EmMchsllVjzMtYBqbC3vmVWHtesVLA0L_4ooqyiFmfJYcnyYIoydeZDJoKFrbCkhlfKC1ciHRYwj9GxBWWrhdH2VpViYD4dR4w/s400/IMG_6642.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218675871981131842" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">goat cheese entombed with fur.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Q-djCDGTC0cjk44e8vxvq6Nx_6aMK_URx4rfviak_Y_TM4pILbOWaGLxcpIp9Ar5d3SUqzNSf-2wxz6M-0gbUIcBb4VqsEQej4EJda3iwDuH4c5jPLUqp6ruVS2ZybuQ726rWiYfemI/s1600-h/IMG_6644.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Q-djCDGTC0cjk44e8vxvq6Nx_6aMK_URx4rfviak_Y_TM4pILbOWaGLxcpIp9Ar5d3SUqzNSf-2wxz6M-0gbUIcBb4VqsEQej4EJda3iwDuH4c5jPLUqp6ruVS2ZybuQ726rWiYfemI/s400/IMG_6644.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218675877630337698" border="0" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">there is a large market for SpongeBob paraphernalia in Turkey</span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">After that, it was time to go swimming in the beautiful lake that was right outside our dorm-style room window.<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw7-t0ut20WKlLKmt1SmFcTQze-oenLU7eB5Ixs1uCuGJR5JQPwF-5RgxDFeLu_BEx4r2QkUXZcRlDPF6_KsXnI9up92XK0hPdEef56bw-uR94p8iXTRa6_GYxwHEFGLNwRFPK9RH7nyU/s1600-h/IMG_6650.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw7-t0ut20WKlLKmt1SmFcTQze-oenLU7eB5Ixs1uCuGJR5JQPwF-5RgxDFeLu_BEx4r2QkUXZcRlDPF6_KsXnI9up92XK0hPdEef56bw-uR94p8iXTRa6_GYxwHEFGLNwRFPK9RH7nyU/s400/IMG_6650.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218680390175112162" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">the view from our room</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">The lake, Lake Egirdir, is surrounded by mountains and had a pebbly shore.<span style=""> </span>Other than a few Turkish kids, we were the only other people swimming in the lake.<span style=""> </span>It was amazing – I could just imagine the same lake in the US being completely crowded by people and motorboats, but there were literally none to be seen here.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMyP8FQBqIMVNIyaRcjHEw-WF8HXgeqNgvCQiTZbhsf6Q85hDL2tDUgnFJYyaBE8knXbTziTePxjzLv2du27XPsbypLmYxxMuF0bO16RA3uAKWwmUQ7ZAvWR1X2TGTWRhJ6kpsmHg7Q1o/s1600-h/IMG_6653.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMyP8FQBqIMVNIyaRcjHEw-WF8HXgeqNgvCQiTZbhsf6Q85hDL2tDUgnFJYyaBE8knXbTziTePxjzLv2du27XPsbypLmYxxMuF0bO16RA3uAKWwmUQ7ZAvWR1X2TGTWRhJ6kpsmHg7Q1o/s400/IMG_6653.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218680393113961106" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">view from the upstairs of our hostel</span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">After our swim which included attempting to teach Edward how to float, we walked the hundred yards back to our pension.<span style=""> </span>On the way, this Turkish woman came out of her house with a bowl of cherries and wouldn’t let us go until we finished them all.<span style=""> </span>I never cease to be amazed with Turkish hospitality.<span style=""> </span>After that, we showered in our one shower and then met the profs.<span style=""> </span>We decided to walk around the city and the nearby island and stop for dinner when we found a spot.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYUkB8XP2ocEAisweFJt07z0Ck_YNJivwdl4ntJBKrXGSm3SrPkqHfs1QrMvcRcRrF_-h59WPu22nxwGXH4ft8UFnxBQfdcT2-FLMjctGEXulV5B9QgdWsRrET7PBO5xyDXiAEDAzK1o4/s1600-h/IMG_6677.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYUkB8XP2ocEAisweFJt07z0Ck_YNJivwdl4ntJBKrXGSm3SrPkqHfs1QrMvcRcRrF_-h59WPu22nxwGXH4ft8UFnxBQfdcT2-FLMjctGEXulV5B9QgdWsRrET7PBO5xyDXiAEDAzK1o4/s400/IMG_6677.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218680398015547698" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV8rLb-DXsCmGGjZRqRUr88KBRKIqOJmSicRMtUy2eZQPdoDY5ouMXanrfVgzNhXQdx5Xm8BbmamRbl2uKDo232vQTT37M3N4AhQ_OIoRRBGQS37UDYMCMtF2ciIL3FsEDHoHoMF8AQeM/s1600-h/IMG_6684.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV8rLb-DXsCmGGjZRqRUr88KBRKIqOJmSicRMtUy2eZQPdoDY5ouMXanrfVgzNhXQdx5Xm8BbmamRbl2uKDo232vQTT37M3N4AhQ_OIoRRBGQS37UDYMCMtF2ciIL3FsEDHoHoMF8AQeM/s400/IMG_6684.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218680395838449826" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> <span style="font-style: italic;">views from walking around Egirdir</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">On the way we saw a mosque that had been closed for renovations and a sign directing the people looking to pray there to head to Aygaz for prayer time (Aygaz is a gas company).<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaK52Q4LYa0cmYOQFTb9WsdEeMoGrFqQ8B7VIin_RMGm-3vYHRWZfTUfHBQf5hIcprWsn3allaXhDwTNy9kF8VfWFs4-dtxGgmLUb-WN1lV4QMt469LPN5HUVC65Uwc4b1wxavvldubnI/s1600-h/IMG_6692.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaK52Q4LYa0cmYOQFTb9WsdEeMoGrFqQ8B7VIin_RMGm-3vYHRWZfTUfHBQf5hIcprWsn3allaXhDwTNy9kF8VfWFs4-dtxGgmLUb-WN1lV4QMt469LPN5HUVC65Uwc4b1wxavvldubnI/s400/IMG_6692.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218680398536036290" border="0" /></a>We also saw a small bazaar that was full of rose paraphernalia (shower gel, soap, Turkish delight, rose water) which Egirdir is known for.<span style=""> </span>Then we stopped at a fish restaurant for dinner right on the lake.<span style=""> </span>After a lovely dinner, it was time for some R and R back at our room in preparation for the next day.</p>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-45694098736041117682008-06-28T05:23:00.000-07:002008-07-07T05:17:27.771-07:00Wednesday, June 18<p class="MsoNormal"> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Dislcaimer to the Reader: </span>Sorry once again for the barrenness of this post. Per my usual luck with cameras, I accidentally deleted all my pictures from Pamukkale.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">We went from Selcuk to Pamukkale today in a rented minibus, and arrived at our next beautiful guesthouse, The Venus Hotel, right before lunch.<span style=""> </span>After playing with the two very cute dogs there and throwing our luggage into our respective rooms, we struck out on the town to hunt down some lunch.<span style=""> </span>We quickly realized that Pamukkale is the definition of a one-horse town.<span style=""> </span>After lunch, we swam/napped at the hotel as we waited for the temperature to go down a bit before hiking up the calcium deposit-encrusted mountain.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After a bit of class time, most of us went up the mountain to go to the Antique Pool, which is a thermal pool with ancient Roman columns submerged in it.<span style=""> </span>There was even one column that we could swim underneath, thanks to Yekta’s goggles.<span style=""> </span>The water was effervescent and bubbled around your skin – and the top of the water looked like Coke fizzing in a glass.<span style=""> </span>Also, on the way up we got to see the hot springs that run over the mountain, depositing calcium.<span style=""> </span>This makes Pamukkale look like a glacier in Antarctica.<span style=""> </span>There are also pools all around the mountain, but we only saw the man-made concrete ones.<span style=""> </span>But they still looked legitimate because the water flowed over them and deposited calcium on top of the concrete.<span style=""> </span>There were some weird foreigners doing a whole shoot in one of the waterfalls into the pools – the guy was in a Speedo and did about 80 different poses.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After the Antique Pool we actually entered into Hierapolis.<span style=""> </span>To clarify, Hierapolis and the Antique Pool were on top of the calcium-deposited mountain.<span style=""> </span>It was the perfect time to poke around Hierapolis, right as the sun was setting.<span style=""> </span>This city was not as intact as Pergamum or Ephesus, but the theatre was amazing and we sat in there for a while.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When we got down the mountain the sun had already set (the pools looked very cool on the way down) and we had a wonderful dinner at our hotel.<span style=""> </span>We tried to back to the mountain to go swimming in the hotsprings at midnight, but the guards told us that it was closed, so we went back to the hotel for some much-needed rest.</p>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-16762791684332731642008-06-26T23:54:00.000-07:002008-07-01T02:56:24.709-07:00Tuesday, June 17<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS6wqsnq19BfXFLuBRdZAKnFNF1WO2wE7_ZnLCx4kgAfLQi_uU0hBDxYsidDMlpH6ivFVTD5ElrQXO-moO7ptkxeaWLszAdkhCTeQic9FCWFAtt2_jm0tCZ8h3_0zvZ9zp5S7eaD0rq0M/s1600-h/IMG_6046.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS6wqsnq19BfXFLuBRdZAKnFNF1WO2wE7_ZnLCx4kgAfLQi_uU0hBDxYsidDMlpH6ivFVTD5ElrQXO-moO7ptkxeaWLszAdkhCTeQic9FCWFAtt2_jm0tCZ8h3_0zvZ9zp5S7eaD0rq0M/s400/IMG_6046.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217980946542258642" border="0" /></a><br />Prof. Shields wanted to give us the day off today for rest and relaxation in Selcuk, but we had other plans.<span style=""> </span>There were so many sights that we wanted to see and things that we wanted to do that we had to spend a long time just planning out how we were going to fit it all in!<span style=""> </span>We ended up leaving for the first of our excursions, Ephesus, at 8:30 AM after a traditional Turkish breakfast on the terrace.<span style=""> </span>The Turkish breakfast includes tomatoes, cucumbers, cheese, olives, a ton of bread, jam, honey, yogurt, hard-boiled eggs, and of course, Turkish tea.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGBcS5MisiXvI02KGo-QJP6E4E1pJCU1W-FChvUUQMpGUQPNWIY3tCWOyRybSOQOkX9YriPLTHFFdSVi5_ZVj89YOG7GYg5nNjNV67Kz0Kyc5baJepjbpS0aLupB2HyhKKVxWu442pLJ0/s1600-h/IMG_6050.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGBcS5MisiXvI02KGo-QJP6E4E1pJCU1W-FChvUUQMpGUQPNWIY3tCWOyRybSOQOkX9YriPLTHFFdSVi5_ZVj89YOG7GYg5nNjNV67Kz0Kyc5baJepjbpS0aLupB2HyhKKVxWu442pLJ0/s400/IMG_6050.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216452163450106882" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">Ephesus was even more intact than Pergamum – it had been reconstructed, which means they had placed the original columns found scattered all over the site in the places they were supposed to be according to records.<span style=""> </span>We kind of gave ourselves tours with books that Prof. Shields got for us, and it was so neat just to walk around the city.<span style=""> </span>I almost immediately found the relief of a caduceus and the health clinic that it pointed to and was very excited about that.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibap_81KQssw8vM32FYh2K4g5uadKIVxcJ_m42m9LoUvqLgFxLwpx2yR103Os0sghOuuxBGtxni5mCqlkiS235sWFdviKxahSqpflKLE_VuqqQzqiUTP9GZqZTYZ4zoiawQfNyvtczkTk/s1600-h/IMG_6074.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibap_81KQssw8vM32FYh2K4g5uadKIVxcJ_m42m9LoUvqLgFxLwpx2yR103Os0sghOuuxBGtxni5mCqlkiS235sWFdviKxahSqpflKLE_VuqqQzqiUTP9GZqZTYZ4zoiawQfNyvtczkTk/s400/IMG_6074.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216452166561497250" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We also found the baths, the public toilets, the library, and the brothel.<span style=""> </span>On the marble road, there was a carving of a foot, a heart, and a woman and it is said that this pointed the way towards the brothel.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3dCQtJ2mgxzx8Yt2ZZmbf1LbdyywIprZ3DAXs6AiS_j2YcTvngdz3IFFCATo3N3mHaHqKBoISOsaJXECKpklrvWDRq99vts1SNiSkCdPwtFtAQigWw9K2vrNQWnN_utkm9vQ7RU-AlmQ/s1600-h/IMG_6183.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3dCQtJ2mgxzx8Yt2ZZmbf1LbdyywIprZ3DAXs6AiS_j2YcTvngdz3IFFCATo3N3mHaHqKBoISOsaJXECKpklrvWDRq99vts1SNiSkCdPwtFtAQigWw9K2vrNQWnN_utkm9vQ7RU-AlmQ/s400/IMG_6183.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217979957334434498" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">ancient graffiti leading the way to the brothel</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0B2SBCmL5JgcuyLa4vkQV69GBOkcjyG8zCWzcwjkt3CnKhObW7vdEsvuauoNnlnecUw4NAkaDkHGIWHk8x4-CqUvsX7fma4kKBKVH8fnph9k0sKCZFSyJnfvGar8mYtX0mwRef30ZPTA/s1600-h/IMG_6092.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0B2SBCmL5JgcuyLa4vkQV69GBOkcjyG8zCWzcwjkt3CnKhObW7vdEsvuauoNnlnecUw4NAkaDkHGIWHk8x4-CqUvsX7fma4kKBKVH8fnph9k0sKCZFSyJnfvGar8mYtX0mwRef30ZPTA/s400/IMG_6092.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216452170835874914" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">the Marble Road<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmmL8zn8D6Fv1Weu7kLncEK5enwJTZJwfFbJsUoRU09nfxdZe1DTitfyUEfx57z_c8pbultjn5R-_NQz4AY8U5Rn2foBDRoKI3watPkBCB4QwG67Cv9O47WjDpgN8svcvJC4lFG8MriJA/s1600-h/IMG_6135.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmmL8zn8D6Fv1Weu7kLncEK5enwJTZJwfFbJsUoRU09nfxdZe1DTitfyUEfx57z_c8pbultjn5R-_NQz4AY8U5Rn2foBDRoKI3watPkBCB4QwG67Cv9O47WjDpgN8svcvJC4lFG8MriJA/s400/IMG_6135.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216452172299949010" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">the Library of Ephesus<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK4-Hi9BrFcCfLwuJTWK_6RlXChbAA_uZqAuQjHvmBmnDptH0EFxKU9weHTXdZoTbYDcrD5rOCHSQFBcmxKzKNjWAK-ey3ert7LFEp95pTXOep9aVBKMOtC-5QvszAaAgFEBm5snfPr3g/s1600-h/IMG_6128.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK4-Hi9BrFcCfLwuJTWK_6RlXChbAA_uZqAuQjHvmBmnDptH0EFxKU9weHTXdZoTbYDcrD5rOCHSQFBcmxKzKNjWAK-ey3ert7LFEp95pTXOep9aVBKMOtC-5QvszAaAgFEBm5snfPr3g/s400/IMG_6128.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217979961923235170" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">the latrines</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">After Ephesus, we headed up to the House of the Virgin Mary.<span style=""> </span>Although it is not certain that it was actually Mary’s house, there are several pieces of evidence in the Bible and in some mystical visions of a nun that led the Pope to declare it part of the Catholic pilgrimage.<span style=""> </span>We were moved through the house pretty quickly, but once outside there was a place where you could light your candle and put it with the other candles as a sign of your devotion or as a physical embodiment of a prayer.<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSeuWHUTNaGqmW47pqrwnLFR6AqNEwmMkp3avATzpEw1BBWNjKAp3Hyf8o1Z4jMny_rVOsT0T-Bn7X95joA1m9zA2Q5TVunkXO2ZRcU2uzrWnqxZisJxrjlWriyKjoeofbepfJE-45GSA/s1600-h/IMG_6194.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSeuWHUTNaGqmW47pqrwnLFR6AqNEwmMkp3avATzpEw1BBWNjKAp3Hyf8o1Z4jMny_rVOsT0T-Bn7X95joA1m9zA2Q5TVunkXO2ZRcU2uzrWnqxZisJxrjlWriyKjoeofbepfJE-45GSA/s400/IMG_6194.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217979965210755474" border="0" /></a>It was beautiful and moving, especially to me after seeing so much Islamic religious sites that are of no real religious value to me.<span style=""> </span>They also had a prayer wall where you could write a prayer and stick it in, and that was also very moving.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh210IhsLVqaD0NFn-Z5oan9jMvnLWFOmsP8AWojOBOyQJIbqGbFnS00q1M_2wdxIv4ixcc7ltEvV1qJoS0Nmlb7gyGMO8WH73OHa6RC0RT7dSk-bWtB_GCm5ZZhMj1oQ7EL3RoqmbsPww/s1600-h/IMG_6209.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh210IhsLVqaD0NFn-Z5oan9jMvnLWFOmsP8AWojOBOyQJIbqGbFnS00q1M_2wdxIv4ixcc7ltEvV1qJoS0Nmlb7gyGMO8WH73OHa6RC0RT7dSk-bWtB_GCm5ZZhMj1oQ7EL3RoqmbsPww/s400/IMG_6209.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217979968174003762" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">the prayer wall</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Then we stopped at the archaeological museum and saw some awesome friezes and statues, even some medical instruments used in Greek and Roman times.<span style=""> </span>Then it was on to lunch with a friend of Emily’s family who lives in Izmir, Mrs. Gurel.<span style=""> </span>We had a wonderful lunch in the garden of a medrese that had been converted into a center for nomadic art.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After that, it was on to the beach – finally we would get to take a dip in the Aegean!<span style=""> </span>After playing in the waves, Edward and Clayton calling to us in “humpback whale” language, chicken – fighting, and burying Clayton in the sand, we went back to ANZ Guesthouse for a quick shower before dinner.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGxw8zUXQPfDSYGiV1IPYz-zJXpiF51_Jp4jQV3aoGr4rEHr7B9Y0kpNPhuQDCXh1Ia6Bxvn31ZpqOP6SygBA51V2aiYIJ6OC6gQuQ2YXHz8xob0uXG94EAfMJ65uEPj5jp4oXbtHCuJY/s1600-h/IMG_6296.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGxw8zUXQPfDSYGiV1IPYz-zJXpiF51_Jp4jQV3aoGr4rEHr7B9Y0kpNPhuQDCXh1Ia6Bxvn31ZpqOP6SygBA51V2aiYIJ6OC6gQuQ2YXHz8xob0uXG94EAfMJ65uEPj5jp4oXbtHCuJY/s400/IMG_6296.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217980957519128178" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">one of my few pictures of the Greek village</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">For dinner we went to this Greek village up the mountain.<span style=""> </span>We got there at the perfect time, right before sunset when the light is golden and perfect for picture-taking.<span style=""> </span>And of course after about three pictures, my camera battery died.<span style=""> </span>But my fellow classmates got some awesome photos, and the views from the village were amazing.<span style=""> </span>We went up there after the buses had stopped running, so we were really the only tourists there – there were only villagers around.<span style=""> </span>We ate dinner there too, and tried some of the fruit wine that they are famous for.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrsrCrkoCNSQD4FBZRPFOd3TTInGdS-6G6gtF7MDJVXy6yr8FtgpcNFAvvFh6qMyZPcojYegRuDyWjiqCQWnv7Vln44JgloEnb694Nk50Npi0UEsx1eBDesjaIdcePHr9jATAX6W8YlaA/s1600-h/IMG_6288.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrsrCrkoCNSQD4FBZRPFOd3TTInGdS-6G6gtF7MDJVXy6yr8FtgpcNFAvvFh6qMyZPcojYegRuDyWjiqCQWnv7Vln44JgloEnb694Nk50Npi0UEsx1eBDesjaIdcePHr9jATAX6W8YlaA/s400/IMG_6288.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217980966307116114" border="0" /></a></p>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-43875495669147691922008-06-26T23:33:00.000-07:002008-06-26T23:53:42.217-07:00Monday, June 16Today we left Canakkale at 8 AM and hit the road for one of our longest trips.<span style=""> </span>On the way out of Canakkale headed to Troy, we saw the Trojan Horse that Warner Bros used in the film –<span style=""> </span>the Trojan Horse that Brad Pitt touched!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCGu106EQAzt7ELBwinCqR1Rc2g6_s_q1qslsOtn3waRNwZoEZEM7VVnrtRgoLqnoW8lvt2Vle08mOs0YtX-iaa96hlFH3kffzxQBwfSIh42fx3VO_v_Kezykcjv-15LAYcLSV2CUftMc/s1600-h/IMG_5867.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCGu106EQAzt7ELBwinCqR1Rc2g6_s_q1qslsOtn3waRNwZoEZEM7VVnrtRgoLqnoW8lvt2Vle08mOs0YtX-iaa96hlFH3kffzxQBwfSIh42fx3VO_v_Kezykcjv-15LAYcLSV2CUftMc/s400/IMG_5867.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216449555835057970" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">When we got to Troy, we saw another fake Trojan Horse, and then it was on to the excavation sites.<span style=""> </span>I had learned a little about the excavation of Troy in my Classics class, so I was excited to be able to see it right in front of me instead of on a Powerpoint.<span style=""> </span>Although it was tough to visualize as a real place because it is just an excavation site, unlike many ancient ruins where you can see things like a<span style=""> </span>library, baths, and temples, it was still very cool to think that we were standing in Troy.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLB1tfRZkq0aBTIbCtcJs_BvxWO8J32rg7czfKlm3UTqYsP_TYUzlcrk32WthEslo77wtUYCcFnqgfjdVWYbdJzy9qdnPm_OQ3vOUEs6QOs2GhklObz1kVAEv_RxXdDTqtEHvZvhG8tvg/s1600-h/IMG_5888.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLB1tfRZkq0aBTIbCtcJs_BvxWO8J32rg7czfKlm3UTqYsP_TYUzlcrk32WthEslo77wtUYCcFnqgfjdVWYbdJzy9qdnPm_OQ3vOUEs6QOs2GhklObz1kVAEv_RxXdDTqtEHvZvhG8tvg/s400/IMG_5888.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216449556616396290" border="0" /></a><span style=""> </span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">the six layers of the ancient city of Troy</span><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal">After that, it was on to a more intact ruin – Pergamum.</p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzTU-KoPH25W8MbB9BVZ1CELtGfl9CfLQvtc_Eh4DD_Vb9iQY2wiUgUEIJfM44NVsaQSZjWyJUCag6iEjTNgHOMwSwP_eL08ZFz96QQwJA2NSoG7loxhzQWW3yJhoDZuUHTAfawZOZklc/s1600-h/IMG_5915.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzTU-KoPH25W8MbB9BVZ1CELtGfl9CfLQvtc_Eh4DD_Vb9iQY2wiUgUEIJfM44NVsaQSZjWyJUCag6iEjTNgHOMwSwP_eL08ZFz96QQwJA2NSoG7loxhzQWW3yJhoDZuUHTAfawZOZklc/s400/IMG_5915.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216447503943933938" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiXj9q8eLHeRZlpyQDastM3JM4WycQ141b4JEp2qfesSVnIT4qfsCF8akVjEZmEDuHuhjA6-lqbym_CK41WcKnz6gPIkRpfnT8FfXjYy-HP5SWFVHkArtNugmJiP_QWU2Z-DOPwlEwebg/s1600-h/IMG_5933.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiXj9q8eLHeRZlpyQDastM3JM4WycQ141b4JEp2qfesSVnIT4qfsCF8akVjEZmEDuHuhjA6-lqbym_CK41WcKnz6gPIkRpfnT8FfXjYy-HP5SWFVHkArtNugmJiP_QWU2Z-DOPwlEwebg/s400/IMG_5933.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216447514076648130" border="0" /></a>This city was both Greek and Roman, and it was amazing.<span style=""> </span>Like many ancient cities, it was built on the top of a hill, and the views were incredible.<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHp3liCLWHtp76XcQhd_SxlK2HisQ9MCSNe2I2G7_CliCUG-yF-L80_YmrUQx1xoa2sRAbRoA8HID74IEB1pkk7whsgCkBCy6Fp-p-TuuslXLL2_YRAA-7A2U3tPAwxBaFxs7bukPZV4Q/s1600-h/IMG_5918.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHp3liCLWHtp76XcQhd_SxlK2HisQ9MCSNe2I2G7_CliCUG-yF-L80_YmrUQx1xoa2sRAbRoA8HID74IEB1pkk7whsgCkBCy6Fp-p-TuuslXLL2_YRAA-7A2U3tPAwxBaFxs7bukPZV4Q/s400/IMG_5918.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216447508531721666" border="0" /></a>It was a training ground for soldiers, and also housed the Asklepion, which was one of the first health clinics in the world.<span style=""> </span>The most mind-blowing fact that I learned was that not only did they treat patients with mental disorders (in the West, this pretty much didn’t happen until the late 19<sup>th</sup> century – until then they were just put away), they treated them in very advanced ways.<span style=""> </span>First of all, they began using lithium in the 3<sup>rd</sup> century BC, which is still used today to treat some disorders.<span style=""> </span>They also placed the mental patients’ rooms near the very steep theatre, which allowed them to use musical and theatrical therapy to help in their treatment.<span style=""> </span>Amazing.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq3ZDz0Wv1qPpcgdbGCDS7X76P8qQPYbTE7kADC9DayCblqUW_8qpKl4UxfbtdrRfAFZYuRxdjCw6vUw4O-4UwuwQo7v0QXlhqsQD8q-hJB9PpaVRS4HPw77SBTyYKsmqoQ-snYB6Z0Sg/s1600-h/IMG_5949.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq3ZDz0Wv1qPpcgdbGCDS7X76P8qQPYbTE7kADC9DayCblqUW_8qpKl4UxfbtdrRfAFZYuRxdjCw6vUw4O-4UwuwQo7v0QXlhqsQD8q-hJB9PpaVRS4HPw77SBTyYKsmqoQ-snYB6Z0Sg/s400/IMG_5949.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216447512170084530" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">the theatre - as you can see the stairs were very steep</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_sKTPJ471pDvQq4yngZHpGUfEu6081XQX5J2EFZK-RCQtcXRRq0KCFIHdCBLdlVrRKRliMSPqX11TZKmaieIuZlM4ua_8RCA2XruO01ePCO6Atzx_gCmpKLuK1Eot31D-IYdm_1hxa9o/s1600-h/IMG_5922.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_sKTPJ471pDvQq4yngZHpGUfEu6081XQX5J2EFZK-RCQtcXRRq0KCFIHdCBLdlVrRKRliMSPqX11TZKmaieIuZlM4ua_8RCA2XruO01ePCO6Atzx_gCmpKLuK1Eot31D-IYdm_1hxa9o/s400/IMG_5922.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216447501855803122" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">remains of a temple</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">After a somewhat long bus ride, we made it to Selcuk, which is a small town right near Izmir on the coast.<span style=""> </span>There, we stayed at the Australian New Zealand Guesthouse, which was a very beautiful and funky little pension.<span style=""> </span>After meeting us on his moped as we were dropped off by the Fez Bus, the owner zoomed up the hill to the guest house, where he had a wonderful dinner waiting for us on the terrace along with a great view of the sunset.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2w_1WPIMoWVTyGlMSMXvP18lCraLMgmvTCkBKfc7e8m40tag6Wl1eXjdOillXJbvOdwaIRQavvEoVm8BtS0M5rJVVzxZuvBt_rThka6v4r0k-qnzWfO3OoybO-nfIGKm7AOVDRMpNM10/s1600-h/IMG_6020.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2w_1WPIMoWVTyGlMSMXvP18lCraLMgmvTCkBKfc7e8m40tag6Wl1eXjdOillXJbvOdwaIRQavvEoVm8BtS0M5rJVVzxZuvBt_rThka6v4r0k-qnzWfO3OoybO-nfIGKm7AOVDRMpNM10/s400/IMG_6020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216450616626063634" border="0" /></a></p>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-72757208493739784232008-06-26T23:29:00.000-07:002008-06-26T23:32:54.865-07:00Saturday/Sunday, June<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">Saturday</b></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Today was our last day in Istanbul before our two-week excursion through the Turkey.<span style=""> </span>We pretty much spent the day preparing for it, but went to Ortakoy for dinner.<span style=""> </span>Ortakoy is this awesome part of Istanbul on the water, where you can get the best <i style="">kumpir</i> and Turkish waffles.<span style=""> </span>These are no ordinary waffles.<span style=""> </span>They are the dessert counterpart to <i style="">kumpir</i>, where the potato is completely stuffed with every kind of topping you could imagine.<span style=""> </span>The toppings for these waffles include about 12 different kinds of Nutella-like flavored spreads, 6 different types of nuts, 4 different types of fruit, and of course, sprinkles and coconut.<span style=""> </span>Pretty much when you go to Ortakoy, you can bet on consuming half your body weight in toppings.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When we returned to the flat it was time to pack for our trip.<span style=""> </span>However, after only about an hour after being home, the power went out in our entire neighborhood, which made packing a little difficult.<span style=""> </span>So of course, we lit our little Pottery Barn lanterns with tea candles in them and went outside to check things out.<span style=""> </span>We made it as far as Mehmet’s pilav shop, chatted with him long enough to ensure that he thought we were completely insane, and then headed back to the flat.<span style=""> </span>We tried to pack for awhile by candlelight and then resorted to the entertainment of Never Have I Ever.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>It was really one of the first times that I realized we were definitely not in a first-world country – Istanbul seems so modern that we sometimes forget that.<span style=""> </span>Like when they shut our water off for a few hours, the city sometimes just shuts things off if they don’t have enough.<span style=""> </span>I tried to imagine what Americans reactions would be if their electricity and water were suddenly shut off for no apparent reason.<span style=""> </span>I have been without power because of a natural disaster, but never because the water or electricity was just running out.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">Sunday</b></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Today was the big day!<span style=""> </span>We left our flat at 6:05 AM in order to make it to the tram stop for the 6:25 tram.<span style=""> </span>It was late, so we decided to take taxis to Sultanahmet instead.<span style=""> </span>We got to our lovely little (emphasis on little) Fez travel bus and loaded on.<span style=""> </span>Despite the slightly cramped quarters, we were excited and ready for our trip to begin.<span style=""> </span>We were joined on this bus pretty much only with Aussies and Kiwis, with the exception of another two Americans, one Canadian, and a family of four Singaporians who I swear never said a word the whole trip.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And then we were off to Gallipoli, the site of Ataturk’s famous World War II victory.<span style=""> </span>Along the way, we stopped for <i style="">gozleme</i> (kind of like a cheese crepe) and saw some very primitive farming methods that would definitely NOT be seen in the US.<span style=""> </span>We got to Gallipoli and had a very thorough tour of all the sites.<span style=""> </span>The first site we visited had a very ugly statue that looked like a 3<sup>rd</sup>-grade art project.<span style=""> </span>However, later on we saw a statue of this park ranger who had apparently stayed on the mountain during one of the big fires and died there.<span style=""> </span>Instead of depicting his dedication to the park while he was alive, they instead decided to depict his horrible death by including flames lapping at his knees in his statue.<span style=""> </span>Classy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Some of the sites we saw at Gallipoli included the landing site of the ANZAC forces, battle sites and trenches of the ANZACs and the Turks, and both of their memorial sites.<span style=""> </span>Interestingly, both the New Zealand and Turkish memorials had statues of Ataturk. Although I was surprised to see that Ataturk’s victory was not built up that much, but that probably had a lot to do with being respectful towards the ANZACs.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After Gallipoli, it was on to Canakkale, where we would be staying the night.<span style=""> </span>After a lovely dinner with all of our Aussie and Kiwi friends, we headed to a nearby sports bar to watch the match between Turkey and the Czech Republic.<span style=""> </span>The Czech Republic was the favorite for this match, and true to form, Turkey trailed 2-0 with only about 15 minutes left in the game.<span style=""> </span>Finally, they scored one goal, although a victory was still looking doubtful.<span style=""> </span>But in the last 5 minutes of the game Turkey scored 2 goals to beat the Czech Republic 3-2!<span style=""> </span>The Turks (and the Americans!) went crazy, and there was even rioting in the streets of the tiny town of Canakkale.<span style=""> </span>We saw Taksim on the news, and it was even crazier than when we rioted with the Turks after they beat Switzerland.<span style=""> </span>This game was also important because it means that Turkey now moves on in the next round.<span style=""> </span>Maybe they are the Cinderella team of the Euro Cup 2008... </p>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-12159519314828001212008-06-14T06:07:00.000-07:002008-06-17T13:44:58.807-07:00Thursday, June 11<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Gather round children and I will tell</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">About a camera that made a living hell</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">For Yekta and Kristina, two lovely lasses</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">That went to Turkish customs to kick their asses.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">Sorry for the vulgarity, but that is the best introduction for the Tale of the Camera. For you avid readers who have been following along with my blog, you will 1) have noticed its barrenness and 2) have been hearing about my situation with cameras. For those not-quite-so-avid readers, my camera broke last Monday (the day of walking the walls) and I have been unable to get it fixed. I relayed my plight to Thomas, who agreed to send me his (very nice) camera - what a wonderful boyfriend! Long story short, FedEx wanted $1500 to get the camera, and I wasn't even sure if I would be able to send it back to the US for any cheaper. So today I took Yekta with me to get to the bottom of this very un-fun Turkish mystery.<br /><br />We headed to Ataturk Airport to get to the FedEx warehouse. Let me tell you, it is quite a journey using public transportation. First, we rode the tramline all the way to the end, then transferred to the metro and rode it to the end of the line, which was the bottom of the airport. From there, we had to take a taxi to the FedEx warehouse. We found an official-looking guy and asked him about our issue - and by "we" asked him, I mean Yekta did in Turkish. He told us that the 1500 lira was the fee for using a broker to get through customs, but since we were here, we could do it for 350 lira. I told him I couldn't pay that much, and then he said that I could send it back to the US for $875. I, getting a tad bit frustrated, said to him, "No, I am NOT paying almost $900 to NOT get my camera."<br /><br />Then he went to his supervisor and came back, telling us that FedEx would drop their $250 fee for the necessary paperwork but I would probably still have to pay the $100 to customs. I said that was fine, so we headed back towards Ataturk Airport to customs. What a scary building that is - after about an hour of copying my passport like 5 times, getting about 10 pages of paperwork, and paying only 30 lira (YES!) we headed <span style="font-style: italic;">back</span> to the FedEx warehouse to give them the customs paperwork and get Thomas's camera via a private (which translates as illegal, or pirate) taxi. After checking through my package and Yekta telling one of the cashiers that her supervisor had said we didn't need to pay (haha) we made it back into our pirate taxi to go back to Ataturk Airport to go back home! Yay!!!!!<br /><br />When we got back to the flat, it was time for our party on the terrace with Robin (our landlady), Hande (our Turkish teacher) + her flatmate, Prof. Shields + William, Katie (Prof.'s daughter) + one of her friends, and a lot of Robin's friends. We had quite a spread of fruit, nuts, and other appetizers, and an even bigger spread of drinks. It was a great time, and after they all left, we had a private DARTY with just us on the terrace. Note: DARTY is a store on Istiklal, but we use it to mean party.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-59324821309157137612008-06-14T05:28:00.001-07:002008-06-16T14:49:46.469-07:00Wednesday, June 11<span style="font-weight: bold;">Wednesday<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /></span></span>Today was a work day for our final projects at the end of the course about cultural identity in Turkey. I decided to talk about women's dress, as I have been fascinated with the varied dress that we have encountered in Istanbul. This has included clothes that would easily be found in the US to covered women (women who wear headscarves and wear clothing that cover their entire body), and even women who wear burka-like things called <span style="font-style: italic;">çarşaf</span> (the Turkish word for sheet). Emily was interested in the same thing, so we will be partners.<br /><br />In the morning Emily and I went to Prof. Shields for some breakfast and advising on our project. I thought I was going to go to customs to get my camera, but alas Yekta's uncle had contacted some people that he knew in customs that told him it would be just as expensive for me to send the camera back as it would for me to pay to get it. By the way, FedEx had told me that I would have to pay 1500 lira, which is equivalent to about $1200. So that was obviously not going to happen.<br /><br /><br />When we got back to the flat, we saw loads of ambulances, helicopters, airplanes, and even several jet skis rushing over Galata Bridge. What could it be? A national emergency, like an assassination or riot? Or perhaps a natural disaster, like a fire or earthquake? So oviously, we went to go check it our firsthand. Sadly we were either too late or nothing was really happening, so this Turkish mystery remains unsolved.<br /><br />Slightly depressed about my camera situation and definitely exhausted, I napped for about 2.5 hours before our Turkish lesson with Hande. After that, it was time to forget about my worries for awhile and watch the Turkish national football (soccer) team play Switzeralnd in the Euro Cup. We went to a sports bar off of Istiklal to watch the game, and were very surprised with how quiet the Turks were as they were watching! Switzerland scored first, and then Turkey responded with a goal of their own in the second half. Then, in the last few minutes of the game, Turkey scored again to win!<br /><br />This time the Turks were <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> quiet at all, and as we were walking down Istiklal back to our flat we realized that the crowd was going the other way, towards Taksim Square. Naturally we joined them, shouting "Turkiye! Turkiye! Turkiye!" just like real Turks. At Taksim, the shouting, singing, and jumping around continued, and we met some more mystic Turks (one of our hobbies) and although I went back to the flat, Amanda, Clayton, and Edward went with them to Ortakoy to sit on the pier and drink Efes.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-8550235300761262412008-06-14T05:10:00.000-07:002008-06-16T14:49:31.169-07:00Tuesday, June 10Today we went to two more site projects.<br /><br />After losing Kevin on the way to Aksaray tram stop (pretty far down the line) we finally met up0 with him and headed to Kariye Camii, a Byzantine church-turned mosque-turned museum via dolmus! YAY WE LOVE DOLMUS! This one was different from the last dolmus because it was a little bigger and more like a short bus than a large van.<br /><br />Kariye Camii is beautiful - its like a little Hagia Sophia, and has some even more pristine and amazing mosaics. It's far smaller, which makes it a little easier to fathom than the huge Hagia Sophia. Whereas in Hagia Sophia I was amazed mainly by the architecture, at Kariye Camii, the mosaics are what grabbed my attention. Almost every wall (and ceiling) had a mosaic depicting the saints, Jesus' life, or Mary's life. The most interesting thing about Kariye Camii to me was the fact that the Virgin Mary's life was depicted so much, because there are no stories about her life apart from Jesus in the Bible. The stories of the mosaics came from lost books of the Bible.<br /><br />After that, a taxi ride to Kalenderhane Camii. I had seen this mosque on Scavenger Hunt Day and loved it, so I was very excited to learn about it and go inside. Another Byzantine church turned mosque, Kalnderhane Camii had the same Byzantine structure of repeating domes and arches built with brick - beautiful. The outside was far more impressive to me than the inside, which had pink walls and red and green carpet - not the most aesthetically pleasing...<br /><br />This was Zoe and Kelly's project, and they gave us a worksheet to color in different parts of the mosque. So here we were outside of a working mosque (the midday call to prayer started as we were sitting outside the mosque) coloring. I'm sure a few Turks were very confused.<br /><br />Afterwards, it was time for lunch and then to figure out about the camera that Thomas had sent me - it was being held at customs for ransom. Unsuccessful, we headed back to the flat and then to Istiklal for dinner.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-4297275925756977522008-06-12T00:47:00.001-07:002008-06-12T01:23:15.081-07:00Monday, June 9This morning we met at our <span style="font-style: italic;">medrese</span> for a discussion of how Turkey's most recent history has affected its culture and people. Afterwards, we headed to the Grand Mufti's headquarters, where we met up with some other American students who were studying religion in Turkey. For those of you who, like me, had no idea what a mufti is, I'll explain. A mufti is an Islamic scholar trained in the interpretation of Islamic law, or Sharia. We met with the government-appointed mufti for all of Istanbul. We started in his office, which was definitely European in its decoration, plus two pictures of Ataturk thrown in for some nationalist pride. We were too big of a group, so we went to an auditorium which looked more like a press conference room.<br /><br />When we got there, Yekta was asked to translate for the Grand Mufti, so she got to sit right next to him on the panel. Then, per Turkish tradition, the assistants of the Grand Mufti came around and served us all tea. Yekta started calling on people for questions, and the other groups asked some pretty dumb ones. One guy asked two questions, both of which were fairly antagonistic and rude. They were really more like accusations with questions marks attached on the end. His first question wasn't too bad, but his second question was ridiculous. It went something along the lines of, "All across the world, Patriarch Bartholomew I is recognized as the Ecumenical Patriarch of Istanbul in the Greek Orthodox Community, and is the spiritual leader of millions of Greek Orthodoz Christians. Why isn't he recognized as the Ecumenical Patriarch by the Turkish government?" And Yekta didn't really understand his question, because it was far longer and more confusing than the way I put it, so he was very rude and condescending to her when she asked him to repeat his question. The Grand Mufti answered that he and Bartholomew were friends, and that it is not his department that deals with that, and that hopefully this issue will work itself out. Then, Rudey McRudeface said quite rudely, "Can I quote you on that???" Yes, because I'm <span style="font-style: italic;">sure</span> you will be writing a very enlightening article which will be published worldwide, idiotic college student...<br /><br />The Mufti, ever so diplomatic, replied, "Of course; why would I say something that couldn't be written down?" That shut Rudey up. Ha. Some more dumb questions included asking the Mufti (keep in mind that he deals with the religious affairs of Turkey) what was being done to create jobs for Kurds in Turkey (an ethnic group, not a religious one).<br /><br />After that disheartening look at America's young people and maybe a clearer understanding of why Americans sometimes carry the international reputation of being rude and stupid, we went to Yildiz University to meet with a professor of sociology and history ( he held two Ph.D's). We had a great continuation of our morning discussion and then walked around the university. We ended up having to take a <span style="font-style: italic;">dolmus</span>, a large van that functions as a group taxi, back to Taksim Square. As always, hilarity ensued. Imagine four Turks in a van. Now imagine a group of ten Americans cramming into that van with them.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-73422217434914788992008-06-09T14:04:00.001-07:002008-06-09T14:32:01.780-07:00Saturday/Sunday June7/8<span style="font-weight: bold;">Saturday</span><br /><br />Today we went to Cihangir, which is the bohemian neighborhood of Istanbul. We had found it in one of David's guidebooks and had seen some interesting places that we wanted to visit, such as the supposed best pizza place ever, a pickle store that contains over 50 different types of pickles, a cafe where the local film stars hang out, and various antique/vintage stores. We decided to eat lunch at the best pizza place ever, called "Miss Pizza," where a tiny puppy was napping on some pamphlets in the window. How much is that puppy in the window? we asked, and for a minute, I envisioned keeping the puppy in our flat, taking it on our "Hop on, Hop off" bus tour throughout Turkey, and even taking it back to the US with me. Some other interesting events in Cihangir included: having a delicious bananas foster-ish dish, meeting our landlord who is an amazing lady, David getting pooped on by a bird and his ensuing ironic comment ("Are you sh***ing me?!?!?"), and cats who try to find the weirdest spots ever to hang out (the top of an umbrella, a moped's floorbed). <br /><br />After that, I attempted to make falafels, which was quite a struggle as Turks apparently don't believe in canned chickpeas. We watched the Turkey vs. Portugal football (soccer) game which ended in our defeat, and then headed to our favorite bar, Darkness, to meet up with our American friend and Turkey connoisseur, Joe. Then we headed out to a club, which actually had real dancing - maybe a byproduct of the American songs that they played.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sunday<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span>Today we slept in and then some went to the mall, apparently one of the biggest in Europe, while the rest of us (minus Emily, intently watching the French Open) went to go explore around our neighborhood. We found some awesome things, including an ANCIENT mosque built by Mimar Sinan, Mimar Sinan Universtesi, a very European-looking mosque, a great tea place overlooking the Bosphorous (which was rainy and beautifully foggy at this point) that was out of this shack in a parking lot (legal??), a huge room full of watermelons, a cat that looked like it was performing prayers towards Mecca, some cute kittens that were actually domesticated by this family who lives in a beautiful house (the kitten that I got to hold climbed up their fence multiple times as we were chatting with them), and a pastry shop where I purchased a delicious muffin/cupckake thing for 1 lira (77 cents). Then it was time for pilav from Mehmet, my love, and watching Federer get destroyed by Nadal.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-57319906824499063832008-06-08T08:34:00.000-07:002008-06-09T14:04:06.458-07:00Friday, June 6Big day today! First, we went to Sultanahmet, or the Blue Mosque (or is it Muss, Emily?) with a historian that Prof. Shields knew. He was very knowledgeable, and since the only other time we had been there had just been us exploring by ourselves, it was very useful to have someone tell us about it, especially because the sultan who built it, Sultan Ahmet II, was a very interesting ruler. He came to the throne at age 13, and ordered to have Sultanahmet built (later in his life) despite the fact that he had not achieved any military victories, which was the traditional reason/criteria for a sultan to build a mosque.<br /><br />After lunch we headed to the true gem of Istanbul after a full two and a half weeks in the city - Hagia Sophia. This Byzantine church-turned-mosque was built about 1500 years ago, and you can feel its antiquity immediately. It has a quiet but powerful presence that I imagine comes from its history steeped in religious significance. Although any outward sign of prayer is forbidden, I couldn't help but feel the compulsion to at least <span style="font-style: italic;">think</span> about the amount of religious devotion, both Christian, Islamic, and otherwise that has occurred in this building. Not to mention its unmatched size - Hagia Sophia is by far the most impressively big building in which I have ever been.<br /><br />So after visiting two of the biggest attractions (not necessarily best, but certainly biggest) that Istanbul has to offer, we decided to tack one more on: going to a Turkish hamam. Now, clearly most of us are seasoned hamam-goers after our experience with the very authentic Bursa hamam, but it was very exciting to go with the whole group to a hamam in Istanbul this time, and especially with the excellent information with which Amanda and Edward provided us, as it was their site project. <br /><br />Hamams are the Turkish equivalent of Roman baths. Built on a smaller scale so as to better comply with the Islamic standard of cleanliness (less people = less gunk in one pool for everyone to swim in), hamams still served the social purposes that are also associated with the Roman baths. They provided an especially important role in the lives of Muslim women, as they were cloistered and secluded in a way that European women were not. Sometimes brides were even chosen in these important social places.<br /><br />The hamam we went to was called Gedikpasa Hamami, commissioned to be built in 1475 by the Grand Vizier of Sultan Mehmet II. So we were taking a bath in the same place that Ottomans did more than 525 years ago! Pretty cool. Edward and Amanda gave us their presentation in the waiting place of the hamam, before the women and men are segregated. When we were trying to determine how the guys and girls would meet back up after our respective baths, one of the Turkish men who worked there informed Yekta that the women would probably take longer since "women like water more." <br /><br />After entering into the women's hamam and playing around in the hot water, we were instructed to lay on the marble slab to receive our massages. As soon as I lay down on my stomach, my masseuse/bather came by, said "Hello!" and untied my bathing suit top. Then she proceeded to give me a wedgie so she could better exfoliate my entire body. It was worth the discomfort, though, and after only the exfoliation process my skin felt the softest it had felt probably since I was a baby. <br /><br />Then the washing/massaging began. My bather squeezed what looked like a huge shopping bag full of suds (although it was really some sort of washcloth) onto me. After a good rub, I was sent to wash off and we spent the rest of the time in the hamam having water fights, swimming in the cold pool, and singing songs for the Turkish women who worked at the hamam. We were the only customers there, so the women kept coming in, banging on plastic bowls and instructing us to sing for them. We happily complied, and they later told Yekta that they loved us and wanted us to come back.<br /><br />After our rebirth from our dead skin cocoons at the hamam, we decided to head up to Istiklal for some <span style="font-style: italic;">kumpir</span>. I'm not sure if I've described this wonderful Turkish dish before, but in case I haven't, it is a baked potato with its insides mashed with salt, butter and cheese. Then, you choose from a buffet of options what you want on your potato. It's magical. For the first time it started raining while we were at the kumpir place, so we had to run from there to the our favorite nargile place, where we spent hours in deep discussion.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-4797046142755117122008-06-08T03:31:00.001-07:002008-06-08T15:26:50.648-07:00Thursday, June 5This morning we met at Taksim Square and traveled to Bogazici University to speak with a professor of Ottoman economics (and current economics). He gave us an overview of the Turkish economy, especially how its changed since the end of the Ottoman Empire. Then we asked him some questions, especially about the court case against the current government. He assured us that the only thing that would happen if the government were banished would be their reorganization under a different name. We also asked him about Turkey's current bid into the EU, and he offered some interesting insight into that.<br /><br />After that, we ate a delicious lunch at the faculty cafe and then went to try to find contact information for the 5 Bogazici students who will be coming to Carolina next year. We got their phone numbers, and hopefully will be meeting up with them to talk about how awesome Carolina is, even provide them with a Powerpoint presentation!<br /><br />We went back to the flat for another Turkish lesson on our terrace - we can make sentences now!Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-45043177014134930412008-06-08T02:36:00.001-07:002008-06-08T15:26:35.431-07:00Wednesday, June 4We went to Dolmabahce Palace and the Military Museum today. Dolmabahce is the sultan's palace built in 1853 by Sultan Abdulmecid at the cost of 35 tons of gold. Although not the sole reason for its demise, this frivolous use of the Ottoman Empire's revenue certainly contributed to its ultimate downfall. It has been called "the Versailles of Turkey," and I would most certainly agree with that statement but qualify a little bit - to me, it was not as beautiful, and that may have to do with the excessiveness of it, especially that it seemed more cramped than Versailles. It was designed in the Rococo style - which means LOADS of gold leaf, cherubs, horrifying amounts of decoration, nothing left untouched by curlicues and other decorative touches. Basically, GAUDY. But it was fun to photograph, as David, understanding my withdrawal from my own camera, so kindly allowed me to use his camera.<br /><br />After that, the group took <span style="font-style: italic;">taksis</span> (our first <span style="font-style: italic;">taksi</span> experience in Istanbul!) to the Military Museum for Kevin and David's site project presentation. We watched the janissary band perform, which was very cool, as they were dressed in the uniforms of the time (complete with fake mustaches - janissaries were not allowed to have beards in order to distinguish them from other guards/members of the military). Then we headed into the Museum, where we saw an incredible collection of weapons, saw a mock-up of the fall of Constantinople to the Ottomans (a full room was dedicated to this), and observed interesting descriptions of Turkish military actions, aka propaganda. The Armenian conflict is a huge issue for Turks, and the room dedicated to this was the most fascinating to me. Although it was formally recognized by the UN as a genocide in 1977, the Republic of Turkey does not recognize the use of that word. It is apparent in their exhibit on the conflict, which focuses on the "massacre" of Turks by the Armenians. The plaque describing this, along with horrible translation, was full of phrases that were clearly nationalist and biased. Far different from the US.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-47940817931396829852008-06-05T12:58:00.000-07:002008-06-08T15:25:55.375-07:00Tuesday, June 3"Sufi Day" was today. Not sure if the prof planned it this way, but this morning we traveled to go see a Sufi mystic who had started an NGO and then made it to an actual Sufi <span style="font-style: italic;">dhikr</span>.<br /><br />Sufism is the most mystical branch of Islam, and is based on the "inner-meaning" of the Qu'ran. It is what some may consider the "hippie" branch,foucsing on the philosophical nature of love in the Qu'ran and the individual "spark" of every person. I think it is a very beautiful religion, especially after speaking with the Sufi woman today. She said "Masala" about every other word, which means something along the lines of "Thank God!" and also has a connotation to mean kind of like "Thank God you have that - I'm not jealous!" We asked her several questions about Islam and other issues in Turkey, and all her answers were very philosophical, poetic responses. Although sometimes I think we were hoping for more concrete answers, it was very cool to speak with an actual Sufi mystic, and especially one who has started her own NGO.<br /><br />After that, we headed to Sirekeci Station for Emily's and my presentation. After giving the history of the building and poking around the museum, we treated our classmates and professors to tea and chatted about the Orient Express.<br /><br />Then it was time to go to our ultra-secret Sufi <span style="font-style: italic;">dhikr.</span> Prof. Shields and William had happened upon this religious ceremony performed by Sufis under the pretense that it would just be a "jam session" for these musicians. For Sufis, the <span style="font-style: italic;">dhikr </span>consists of singing, instrumental music, and recitation of God's name. Since the secularization of Turkey by Ataturk, the Mevlevi Sufis (the whirling dervish sect of Sufism) was outlawed. Now the <span style="font-style: italic;">sema</span>, or the Mevlevi <span style="font-style: italic;">dhikr</span> which includes the whirling dervidsh dance, can only be performed as a folkloric event, e.g., you have to buy tickets to see a show. Prof. Shields told us that she thought this was almost derogatory to the religion, to make a very sacred religious ritual into just a show for tourists to watch. I completely agree with her, especially after observing the <span style="font-style: italic;">dhikr.<br /><br /></span>So we made it to the address on the business card that the prof. had given us, and to our surprise, we found William, who then, in his usual way, led us to Prof. Shields and the Sufi <span style="font-style: italic;">dhikr.</span> Like I said, they hold their <span style="font-style: italic;">dhikr</span> under the pretenses of it being just a musical session, which is easy for them to do because they hold it in a music store that restores and makes traditional Turkish instruments. They played many songs, distributing the words and music to everyone so we could follow along. I even got to beat on a tambourine-like thing! After a while, the dervish came out in his traditional garb and began to whirl. I was sitting on the floor, and I was so close to him that his skirt kept hitting my legs. He was amazing - I have no idea how he was able to turn for so long staying in one spot. Clearly, everyone there was moved by this dervish and I could tell that the Sufis were really able to complete their devotional practice through him. After that was over, it was one of the musician's birthday, so we stayed for dinner, dessert, and dancing. Once, again, we were overwhelmed by Turkish hospitality.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-13384997137320930082008-06-05T12:28:00.000-07:002008-06-05T12:58:26.593-07:00Monday, June 2Today we walked the Theodosian walls, which encircle the city of Istanbul. Well, they encircle the part of the city that was established during the time of Theodosius II, who built the walls from 408-413 AD. The history that had been played out along these walls (the fall of Constantinople to the Ottomans in 1453) was enough to make them exciting, but their true uniqueness came from their untouristy nature. First of all, at the fort where we started our journey, there were no railings, signs, anything that made it seem like a monument. And we were the only people there. So we started exploring. We went up long, winding staircases that were pitch black, because obviously there were no lights, we went into a dungeon and saw the hole where they pitched the decapitated bodies that went out to the sea, and we climbed up a tower to get one of the best views in Istanbul.<br /><br />Oh, and my camera broke, which is why the past few posts have had no pictures. Hopefully, that problem will be rectified soon.<br /><br />One of the coolest things about the walls is that they went through some interesting neighborhoods; mainly low-income areas and even some Gypsy neighborhoods. We stopped and spoke to several children, who as always, were eager to test their English on us. We climbed several other towers to get even more awesome views; one which was like climbing up Mayan ruins because the steps were so steep you had to climb them like a ladder. Amanda and I were a little scared on the way down, and thank God for Clayton's singing skills (as Bon Qui Qui) or we may not have made it down.<br /><br />After walking the walls, we were all very tired and made it back to our flat just in time for us to get some fruit and tea to host Hande, who came to our flat and gave us a Turkish lesson on the terrace.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-29625718649852273362008-06-04T13:38:00.000-07:002008-06-05T12:33:57.381-07:00Saturday/SundaySaturday<br /><br />We woke up early today, ready to go explore Bursa, which I think took the tired Turks by surprise. None of us had gotten much sleep because we had gone to bed pretty late and, after all, there were 10 people sleeping in a 12 x 12 rhombus room. So we first headed to Yesil Cami (Green Mosque) in Bursa, which gets its name from the gorgeous green tiles that line its walls. After that, we went to Ulu Cami (Great Mosque). This mosque was so different from any other mosques we have seen before - it was almost cathedral-like. Instead of the ornateness of the tiles, the inside of the mosque was painted a beige-ish color. Bold, black calligraphy was splashed throughout the many columns, and several walls were painted to look like the view from a window. Different from the gorgeous colors of the tiles and gold inlay that we are used to seeing in mosques. It also seemed to be more partitioned than others, and there were tons of kids running around in it, yelling and screaming, which was definitely not an aspect of any of the other mosques we have been to.<br /><br />After that, it was on to the tomb of Osman, the father of the Ottomans, where some kids were running in and out of his tomb tent-like thing. For the final resting place of the father of the whole Ottoman race, I was surprised not to see a little more pomp and circumstance. But then again, Turkey has been trying to shed its Ottoman image since the days of Ataturk.<br /><br />After that, we walked through some bazaars with some gorgeous silks (Bursa is known for their silks, and apparently like 1000 other things like knives, eskender, and hamams). And then after about 3 cheese toasts, we headed to our first hamam trip! We got in the taksis, and headed out to the edge of town. The taksis dropped us off at this dirt road that curved down into a valley - it was beautiful. We walked down the hill and spotted this huge building with gorgeous domes - I asked Selmon if that was the hamam and he said it was! I was overjoyed and we excitedly went up to the entrance. The boys went in, and Selmon said that we had to go to the ladies' section. Amanda, the hamam expert because that's what her site project is on, told us that there was probably a women's entrance. Oh how wrong we were.<br /><br />We were led to the back of this gorgeous building, built for Suleyman the Magnificent, to what looked like a penitentiary: the womens' hamam. It was a weird hybrid of sorts, because on the inside it looked like a mental institution. Lovely. Needless to say, it was definitely the real thing: we were the only non-Turks there, and got some very weird looks when we walked in. We think some people actually used the hamam as their real bath, because we didn't see a shower at Eyup's house, and the hamam was only 7 lira. Anyways, we played around a bit in the hot water, and when we ventured back outside, our Turkish friends told us that they had a surprise for us.<br /><br />We were driven to a beautiful apartment, where Taner's adorable greeted us with excited smiles and "Merhaba!" 's. They led us up to their terrace, which had absolutely gorgeous views of the mountains and the city of Bursa. Then the feast began! We started with fresh cherries, apricots, bananas, <span style="font-style: italic;">erik </span>(sour green plums), and Ayran - Turkey's national drink which is salty and yogurt-based. After that, we moved on to tomato <span style="font-style: italic;">corba </span>(soup), <span style="font-style: italic;">cicek</span> (yogurt and cucumber soup), eggplant pilaf, <span style="font-style: italic;">lahmacun</span> (Turkish pizza), potato salad (which is literal - its salad with potatoes in it), and Turkish coffee to top it all off. It was delicious, and every time Taner's mom would bring us a new dish, she would say, "Afiyet olsun!", which is the Turkish equivalent of "Bon Appetit!"<br /><br />After dinner, Selmon said we were going to Orhan's house, so we all geared up for another trek across Bursa, only to be informed that Orhan lived on the first floor of the apartment building. Taner and Orhan are cousins, and in the Turkish tradition, their whole extended family lives in one apartment building, with one individual family unit per floor. Again, we hung out and listened to music - earlier that day I had given my iPod to Taner and Eyup to listen to, and they loved the music on it. They kept scrolling through and saying things like, "CCR! Doobie Brothers!" with their thumbs up and huge smiles on their faces. Orhan's mom came in and brought us sunflower seeds and Coke on a tray - everyone here is so hospitable and as Selmon explained several times, "the guest is very important." Then Orhan and Taner's aunt came in and gave the three girls gifts of nail polish! They are the happiest, closest, and sweetest family.<br /><br />At one point in the night, Selmon changed and came back in a muscle tee and shorts and said, "Now, I am very sexy. Everyone calm down." The language barrier always adds to the hilarity of Turkey. But it can also be a very poetic thing - Selmon also told me that I had "hair the color of evening sunshine." <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sunday</span><br /><br /><br />We had a great sleep, and woke up in the morning to an AWESOME traditional Turkish breakfast of hard-boiled eggs, bread with rose and cherry jelly, cheese, cucumbers, tomatoes, sausage, and <span style="font-style: italic;">cay</span> and Turkish coffee. After a lovely send-off from the families, including Taner's mom communicating that now she was our Turkish aunt, we headed back to the bus station and back to Istanbul, already looking forward to hosting Taner, Eyup, Selmon, and Orhan in Istanbul.<br /><br />One more funny story from the bus ride to Istanbul - we got on a small shuttle bus to take us back to Taksim Square, and as we were waiting to leave, the bus driver came up to us and launched into a long string of Turkish. We thought he may want our luggage to put underneath the bus, but he pushed it away and continued his Turkish rant. He must have finally recognized the incredibly blank looks on our faces, because he stopped and said the first phrase that we understood, "<span style="font-style: italic;">Turkce yok?</span>" which means, "No Turkish?" "<span style="font-style: italic;">Evet (</span>yes)<span style="font-style: italic;">,</span>" we replied, "<span style="font-style: italic;">Turkce yok." </span>He looked at us incredulously and asked "Turkce yok?" again. Again we replied. Then he went to his driver's seat, looked back and with a shrug of his shoulders at us said, "<span style="font-style: italic;">Turkce yok!"</span><br /><br />Turkce yok is now our favorite phrase.Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-83920705734340982342008-06-03T13:52:00.000-07:002008-06-04T08:28:35.821-07:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">Friday, May 30<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">This morning we discussed our readings over <span style="font-style: italic;">cay</span> (tea) and homemade cookies (delicious - almond and cinnamon) in our medrese. First, Prof. Shields wanted to hear our take of Istanbul after being in the city for 10 days. I brought up how I felt about appropriate dress. Now, when I see a woman wearing a dress above the knee I'm appalled by her lack of clothing. Many times, the clothing that I would think of as inappropriate here could be considered fairly conservative dress in the States. I even notice myself feeling weird going up to our terrace to get my laundry in just athletic shorts and a t-shirt, something I would regularly wear around town at home. I wonder if this is because I don't want to offend anyone or if I have truly began to internalize this idea.<br /><br />We kept the discussion fairly brief because we were headed to Bursa for the weekend. The prof had planned on taking us there with her, but when Murat, our Turkish friend from Bursa who lives on the third floor, invited us to stay with him, she decided that it would be better if we went alone. So after several conversations of broken English and broken Turkish, we somehow formed some semblance of a plan of getting to Bursa. It was quite a complicated plan, as Murat was not traveling with us but was coming later, so we were being picked up at the bus station by his friends who we had never met before. So after packing up our communal toiletries, blankets, pillows, and towels, we headed down Istiklal, feeling very "college." I was feeling like a hardcore backpacker too, until the boys assured me that my bag was too stylish to be a backpacker's (Thanks Mark and Marybeth!)<br /><br />After frantically searching for the station in order to make our bus, we finally found it - although it was too full for us, so we had to wait an hour until the next bus. We finally got on, and Mama Yekta bid us goodbye like we were her kids heading off to our first day of school, saying "Call me when you get there!"<br /><br />And we were off. With barely any Turkish, having no idea who this mystic friend of Murat's actually was, and with generally no idea bout Bursa. An adventure was definitely in store for us. I sit here now at the back of the bus, squished between Clayton and a Turk, getting my first taste of outside of Istanbul.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Turkish Traffic</span><br /><br />I must insert here a small blurb about Turkish drivers/traffic. I don't think I have provided a good enough description of Turkish drivers. Up until now, I could only speak as a pedestrian forced to dodge cars every day, which is terrifying enough. But speaking from the back of an <span style="font-style: italic;">otobus</span>, I can make a few observations. 1) these bus drivers drive the buses like mopeds, weaving in and out of traffic and 2) street lines are barely a suggestion and probably more of an invitation for drivers to ignore every traffic law.<br /><br />The bus ride to Bursa was punctuated by several interesting things: a Turkish au pere who had been sent to Denver, getting told not to use a cell phone on the bus because it would interfere with the brakes, foreign car companies like Saangyong, American cars but weird makes (Ford Fiesta?), a Turkish version if the Oreo (America wins on this one), and a bus attendant who was not amused with the seven Americans sitting in the middle of his bus.<br /><br />So 3.5 hours of travel time and we just passed Sibanci University, which took 1.5 hours yesterday. Then the random Turk sitting next to Amanda told Kelly that her face looked like George Bush, then told us that the maps of Bursa that David had to piece together from our 1978 guidebook were used by Marco Polo.<br /><br />And the hilarity of the bus ride continues. We go around this curve in the mountainous road we had been driving on and we are at the end of the road at the edge of the sea. We all were wondering what the heck would happen - are we taking a ferry?!? Our entire group erupted into laughter as we imagined that all the announcements that the bus driver had been making (in Turkish, of course) went along the lines of "Ok folks, remember that we WILL be getting on the ferry here in a few minutes."<br /><br />So we got on and walked around the boat for awhile, got some <span style="font-style: italic;">cay</span> and then Amanda and I decided to try a Turkish phenomenon called "Corn in Cup." Which, in fact, is corn in a cup. We saw this Turkish guy get his before us, and he got pomegranate syrup in his, so we decided this was the Turkish thing to do and asked for pomegranate in ours. And lemon. It was ok, but not something I would get again.<br /><br />After getting back on the bus and on dry land, we only had about an hour until Bursa. I made friends with the woman sitting on the bus behind me, who was a Muslim Turk living in Germany. Our friendship began when I dropped my hairclip and she made it her personal mission to find it for me. Kevin was able to actually able to converse with them in Turkish (that's how we found out about where they were from). I got out some chocolate and offered it to her and showed her that it was German chocolate, but she declined, laughing and patting me on the back. I offered it to the Turk that was sitting next to Amanda, and he took it but had a terrible look on his face when he bit into it. Prof. Shields had told us that there is basically no dark chocolate in Turkey, and this happened 70% cocoa, so I assumed that he thought it was bitter and asked him. He said yes, and then said that it was as sweet as my face. Great, I thought, my face is as sweet as really bitter chocolate. But then, using Kevin's handy Turkish-English dictionary, he clarified, explaining that what he meant to say was the sweetness of my face made him believe that the chocolate would be sweet. Much better.<br /><br />We finally arrived at the bus station, wondering how in the world we would find Murat's friends. Luckily, they were right there waiting for us, asking us "Americans?" "EVET!" we replied joyfully (evet = yes in Turkish). Another bus ride and a slight walk, we arrived at<br />Eyup's house. We were ushered into the room where we would be sleeping - 12 x 12 rhombus. Amanda accurately quipped, "When do you ever use that shape?" She was right - this was the first I've ever seen a rhombus in action. The Turks brought the party to us with a mixed drink of <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>sarap</span> (wine) and Gazoz, a soda that kind of tastes like Sprite. Surprisingly, it tasted pretty good. Funny thing - the boys all got Efes and the girls got the fruity wine drink. Typical.<br /><br />After some of that, some music, and about 3 packs of chainsmoking cigarettes for each Turk, we finally got to bed. We finally had figured out sleeping arrangements between the long skinny futon, the short fat futon, the twin bed, and the floor, when Selmon came in and announced that the three Turks would be spending the night in the room also. So now ten of us were sleeping in one 12 x 12 rhombus. Adventure.<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-53194110237178572332008-06-03T13:39:00.000-07:002008-06-03T13:51:03.370-07:00<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Thursday, May 29</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpfCRy2JzUJ4xFcsKtwHF8_mcgoZgsfNITKOjcaJew8RqpiFVwb9iwN4BzvsJ05cL0igYfRG2QiZacgYkxIiI01dre7HFr9-2SDmV0CsJ7K0Ok2HStLnnxeLQIHysc92p7fabW7sJ0yA8/s1600-h/IMG_2654.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpfCRy2JzUJ4xFcsKtwHF8_mcgoZgsfNITKOjcaJew8RqpiFVwb9iwN4BzvsJ05cL0igYfRG2QiZacgYkxIiI01dre7HFr9-2SDmV0CsJ7K0Ok2HStLnnxeLQIHysc92p7fabW7sJ0yA8/s400/IMG_2654.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207759535942451634" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">a view of the campus of Sibanci University</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Today we headed to Sabanci University on the outskirts of Istanbul to meet up with some students our age.<span style=""> </span>After an adventurous 1 1/12 trek, we arrived at Sabanci.<span style=""> </span>The university has a beautiful campus, but in a very different way than the campus of UNC.<span style=""> </span>While UNC is the oldest public university in the US, Sibanci was only just opened eight years ago.<span style=""> </span>Its newness is definitely reflected in the architecture and layout of the university. Sibanci is also the only interdisciplinary university in Turkey.<span style=""> </span>The students that we met there were in the English program that precedes actual university studies, and they had prepared a presentation for us about Turkish culture.<span style=""> </span>It was very informative and interesting, but the highlight had to be when one of the students made a slight mistake in word choice when talking about the Islamic sacrifices and explained to us that they sacrificed “coaches, bullocks, and calves.”<span style=""> </span>I think she meant “cows, bulls, and calves…”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMi7vjUd_qnD6oiImCNnMebk1v52_tD9XoDxRyAZ_owrsWye7pSVZ3E4XfL-xE9HgzjuhSBj3XXhe5lB8yLtaIBVQU_ucMENmnHX077HHCLPw2sk0cGsWP3KzN-TG4gYHKsvNA4AB3V6M/s1600-h/IMG_2653.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMi7vjUd_qnD6oiImCNnMebk1v52_tD9XoDxRyAZ_owrsWye7pSVZ3E4XfL-xE9HgzjuhSBj3XXhe5lB8yLtaIBVQU_ucMENmnHX077HHCLPw2sk0cGsWP3KzN-TG4gYHKsvNA4AB3V6M/s400/IMG_2653.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207759527212874994" border="0" /></a></p> <br /><p class="MsoNormal">After lunch in their cafeteria, we got a tour of the University – very nice facilities, although I think we got them on the basketball court!<span style=""> </span>We showed them a picture of the Dean Dome and they were less than enthused about showing us their gym.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn4yKbgJC6VwMQKJGvVkv9CcQuIOGdegS3xJTy1q2xDDfU23by0epMXzkhWFA7i2vSxL6Z5mEG0vu5WI-m9UYw6q4K9xrOnLSfscf1nv_CKQ8Do0NQ1iI_NTqC5s5USrs7LeSeKyBdVQc/s1600-h/IMG_2665.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn4yKbgJC6VwMQKJGvVkv9CcQuIOGdegS3xJTy1q2xDDfU23by0epMXzkhWFA7i2vSxL6Z5mEG0vu5WI-m9UYw6q4K9xrOnLSfscf1nv_CKQ8Do0NQ1iI_NTqC5s5USrs7LeSeKyBdVQc/s400/IMG_2665.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207759577195301890" border="0" /></a>We exchanged e-mails and phone numbers, promising to meet up with them sometime next week.<span style=""> </span>They were so welcoming and eager – right in line with the Turkish hospitality that we have experienced since we arrived here.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPZPHNOb5WN0LFNWHl5LtNLa20R_exZ7w5Qnt8YimitR6Nqtr92hcve6UFvrN9AvFSPaKIOGvnViO6ww064QbNImsCQeTro8lOZfbpLfPU65n_7PdjhcatDCnnO5sNx1G1IuedL5P8Dgw/s1600-h/IMG_2659.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPZPHNOb5WN0LFNWHl5LtNLa20R_exZ7w5Qnt8YimitR6Nqtr92hcve6UFvrN9AvFSPaKIOGvnViO6ww064QbNImsCQeTro8lOZfbpLfPU65n_7PdjhcatDCnnO5sNx1G1IuedL5P8Dgw/s400/IMG_2659.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207759549304585074" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">the library - far less crowded by both chairs and people than UNC's</span></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgStPh_WeKcjdr8PPFzAcD0ox-icRivTmcNfD0MlWs2npuzkxpBgHQn9fDwfM8msW-dkMDnno3DcDoRgmCdu-N5ZMMvf81LYIknux1FqGRBkHIOn1rmWtpvnwAn34j77a1PiDtehRuwKS4/s1600-h/IMG_2676.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgStPh_WeKcjdr8PPFzAcD0ox-icRivTmcNfD0MlWs2npuzkxpBgHQn9fDwfM8msW-dkMDnno3DcDoRgmCdu-N5ZMMvf81LYIknux1FqGRBkHIOn1rmWtpvnwAn34j77a1PiDtehRuwKS4/s400/IMG_2676.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207759610302203106" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">another view of campus, from an outdoor amphitheatre</span><br /></p>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-36341457342557587402008-05-29T07:34:00.000-07:002008-06-03T13:36:46.396-07:00Tuesday/Wednesday<span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGfXFY3jOnSzoPCC0D6aPWL4wgFm58v574d14bUWpdrx1vyC_5GKjI-HtmPjdGdkDNvuEuacKta8e5zuaQ9N9M6ptx7PndQcgJN_xy4MXwWefzLIaoCEY6puMw3-TbqFVC982EvLjj2mA/s1600-h/IMG_2550.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGfXFY3jOnSzoPCC0D6aPWL4wgFm58v574d14bUWpdrx1vyC_5GKjI-HtmPjdGdkDNvuEuacKta8e5zuaQ9N9M6ptx7PndQcgJN_xy4MXwWefzLIaoCEY6puMw3-TbqFVC982EvLjj2mA/s400/IMG_2550.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207737715631618258" border="0" /></a><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >at the Oriental Express restaurant inside Sirekeci Station with a cup of Turkish coffe</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br />So I've been a little slack about posting...sorry avid readers, I know I have kept you in suspense and you are desperate for an update!<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >Tuesday</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br />Today was a very nice, relaxing day. Slept in, caught up on blogging, uploading pictures, etc., and then in the afternoon we met with Professor Murat Ozyuksel from Istanbul University to discuss the industrialization of Istanbul, especially the effect of trains on Turkey and its peoples. We watched a short film on the subject, which ended up being about 2 1/2 times as long because Yekta had to stop and translate about every thirty seconds! Poor Yekta - simultaneous translation is a doozy! Not that I would know. I was seriously amazed at her skills - her translation was poetic and not choppy at all - a future profession perhaps?<br /><br />Then we headed up to the terrace and got into a discussion about Turkish politics. It was very heartening to hear a Turk so freely speak about his distaste for government censorship and his hope for a truly deomcratic Turkey. Two of the major issues regarding this censorship are 1) the government blocking YouTube, and 2) the government allowing women in university to wear headscarves. This is a very multi-faceted issue, as the current government has both lifted a law that many would consider a violation of human rights by allowing women to wear headscarves and violated human rights by blocking YouTube.<br /><br />Prof. Shields left us to help William finish cooking dinner, and about an hour later we headed up Istiklal to their flat. We had some delicious fajitas and then decided to teach the profs how to play Catchphrase - it was so fun/funny! I'm sure we will play again...<br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >Wednesday</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Ul7Z8UTZvoIX6naUdDHbesQWeECwl_tL-XDg9WxyqTzVzBm6qMm_ytT4euRL4eydszZWHXAOCRjKCm8b4Q7SrwarWsprN9LFoVaE22oA9D4ksP8MotCDTRme2zjnNF9iyWZVv90IF88/s1600-h/IMG_2510.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Ul7Z8UTZvoIX6naUdDHbesQWeECwl_tL-XDg9WxyqTzVzBm6qMm_ytT4euRL4eydszZWHXAOCRjKCm8b4Q7SrwarWsprN9LFoVaE22oA9D4ksP8MotCDTRme2zjnNF9iyWZVv90IF88/s400/IMG_2510.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207737701896722834" border="0" /></a><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >inside Sirekeci Station<br /></span></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />Today we didn't have to meet again until 1:45, so Emily and I went to our place for our oral history project. Our project is on Sirekeci Train Station, which is where the Oriental Express first pulled into Istanbul. After poking around, which included making our way into the station managers private quarters, we ate lunch at the Orient Express Restaurant, which opened its doors in 1890. I had something called "imam bayildi," which means "the imam has fainted." It's basically stuffed eggplant, served chilled, and it was delicious.<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhrzhGKOlzfoxaHwXXR-GhkDd4KGE2cEvLA7dNSfUVOeID7vAk0JgXziLgsaCAidNjlf_pRJZX-n-Y7tBJs5Udfl5ZYhm88MugoF5iPX-j9_j6mam8xKx_1buPa43S6yeeC4Z4yx69MFo/s1600-h/IMG_2536.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhrzhGKOlzfoxaHwXXR-GhkDd4KGE2cEvLA7dNSfUVOeID7vAk0JgXziLgsaCAidNjlf_pRJZX-n-Y7tBJs5Udfl5ZYhm88MugoF5iPX-j9_j6mam8xKx_1buPa43S6yeeC4Z4yx69MFo/s400/IMG_2536.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207737710635628674" border="0" /></a><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >the private quarters<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHeKz2Aa9lS5_IirmPdtWIfDSKxtDGX8xuqD4wRyCJYyJjAOmNcvSz9iPyDguAw8t2j8j_4Gykc_wEjsvrLWE1qijNpcVHYByAvcaF5HsPdSyuMFLac2UwR479r2FQdzCJBKGOSAysilc/s1600-h/IMG_2551.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHeKz2Aa9lS5_IirmPdtWIfDSKxtDGX8xuqD4wRyCJYyJjAOmNcvSz9iPyDguAw8t2j8j_4Gykc_wEjsvrLWE1qijNpcVHYByAvcaF5HsPdSyuMFLac2UwR479r2FQdzCJBKGOSAysilc/s400/IMG_2551.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207737720058017698" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >imam bayildi<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">After lunch, we started making our way to the Museum of Turkish and Islamic Art. On the way, we bumped into this awesome art gallery, and one of the artists was a covered woman, which means that she wears the traditional Muslim headscarf and the conservative dress. Her artwork was amazing; here are some pictures of it. If only I had 100 euro to blow...<br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-TxTk2iQTQuWGmLc_ir5AaGkfw_duEquwdVgwSKLflzXqo5VpWMAS-tbfX0uQcedqpQWenr_9fhjkopGyzgaMJzPwRnMoBuKmSoYWiJbGb5pwE3g_U7ZcX75zvWpRRfgClO7U6hcWRzM/s1600-h/IMG_2561.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-TxTk2iQTQuWGmLc_ir5AaGkfw_duEquwdVgwSKLflzXqo5VpWMAS-tbfX0uQcedqpQWenr_9fhjkopGyzgaMJzPwRnMoBuKmSoYWiJbGb5pwE3g_U7ZcX75zvWpRRfgClO7U6hcWRzM/s400/IMG_2561.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207737726282334066" border="0" /></a> </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >the sign outside the door</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnk29V2-4sFD4XqivKJQ6OejGbAqlOjFaXBK-DWm-1dzoykwNNuy3iLC4HcQdv-tq4kFcl87cBL1Tzl-7cKQcTPnC9PnSTeaPcoRPlbP_rLqBahsEgmxE78rh47FzoPu3D_J6bISVK4LU/s1600-h/IMG_2556.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnk29V2-4sFD4XqivKJQ6OejGbAqlOjFaXBK-DWm-1dzoykwNNuy3iLC4HcQdv-tq4kFcl87cBL1Tzl-7cKQcTPnC9PnSTeaPcoRPlbP_rLqBahsEgmxE78rh47FzoPu3D_J6bISVK4LU/s400/IMG_2556.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207738583371949714" border="0" /></a><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >one of my favorite pieces</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheISDfYXBBcECZ1shpLcyJDCQ_DU4OCmimtXmzYApDYCI3tvJMNJxeA7jSwX0GlI3qVi8ReYqufjjum8EXRa-Egx6DMkAYCdu7AFnd2DivJgBNh_7sRNiSSl7yFvCvL5zmEf9boEAXKTM/s1600-h/IMG_2557.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheISDfYXBBcECZ1shpLcyJDCQ_DU4OCmimtXmzYApDYCI3tvJMNJxeA7jSwX0GlI3qVi8ReYqufjjum8EXRa-Egx6DMkAYCdu7AFnd2DivJgBNh_7sRNiSSl7yFvCvL5zmEf9boEAXKTM/s400/IMG_2557.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207738589832863954" border="0" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >another one, of whirling dervishes<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> I absolutely LOVED the museum, and although I do like art museums a lot, I have never been so enthralled by one.<br /></span></div> <span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1SqW8pSWMbkrEqMn5l1g7axIl4k-Nazn40g4_s8iHOQqZxRcee5ud6S_aTjaRZr2bRSJ6fJfWtvyykBIah4ICSaHqXmkvU9t6NWJ-_LRuWg2OncgZ4gkTXazJTqCdJGrIBipznfojcFY/s1600-h/IMG_2580.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1SqW8pSWMbkrEqMn5l1g7axIl4k-Nazn40g4_s8iHOQqZxRcee5ud6S_aTjaRZr2bRSJ6fJfWtvyykBIah4ICSaHqXmkvU9t6NWJ-_LRuWg2OncgZ4gkTXazJTqCdJGrIBipznfojcFY/s400/IMG_2580.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207738593066606754" border="0" /></a><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >the Museum of Turkish and Islamic Art<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I think this is due to the fact that most of the art within the museum is functional - carpets,<br />prayer rugs, jewelry, Koran calligraphy, etc.<br /></span></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizDjcwyI4afXtXn1IEZ4xb4BvnnsHHqBgzfZPxHEAn20x2zemXd831UcYZ1PpwzhlES_fZ8PKoZF1cfy_6dvV2lMHurv7jPyp1P6FsyyWTCeyC82rEPF2GTsRFec5A2HDGdminGKYL28I/s1600-h/IMG_2595.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizDjcwyI4afXtXn1IEZ4xb4BvnnsHHqBgzfZPxHEAn20x2zemXd831UcYZ1PpwzhlES_fZ8PKoZF1cfy_6dvV2lMHurv7jPyp1P6FsyyWTCeyC82rEPF2GTsRFec5A2HDGdminGKYL28I/s400/IMG_2595.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207738597062085298" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >the Koran, decorated with calligraphy</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />Also, it helped that we had amazing guide, </span>Art historian <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27"></span>Nazende Yilmaz from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29"></span>Mimar Sinan<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30"></span> University<span style="font-size:100%;">, who answered all my questions along the way. We have been seeing tulips all over the city and in artwork, and Clayton told me that it was because Sultan Ahmed III loved tulips. I felt that there was some other story there, so I asked our guide and she told me that tulips, contrary to popular belief actually originated in Turkey and not in Holland. Even the Turks had forgotten this by the time reign of Sultan Ahmed III in the 18th century, and he decided that in order to make Turkey seem more Western he would import tulips back to Turkey. Also, much of the reason that it is used in Islamic art is due to symbolism - the letters in the Turkish word for tulip, </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >lale</span><span style="font-size:100%;">, can be rearranged to spell "Allah" (kind of, I guess its more of a phonetic thing.) So, the tulip in Turkish art represents Allah. Similarly, the rose symbolizes the prophet Muhammed and the carnation is Ali. There are tulip images all throughout Istanbul - even statue-like tulips, like the donkeys and elephants painted by local artists of DC. There are a bunch in Taksim and some in front of Yeni Camii - I'll take pictures and try to post them soon.<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLmj-GcDVRTCCWBR-ZhphXmR3Lk8H9k3n3RIa7M2nXVqAsmgCXO20yQCyCkubrKx5VsJH-40UCpHW6WWQ9PJSoy_-8LoonAhUD_ma9qytJYCXwGYXlRuuPlDMGTIn62RgCSj56Fc8hyphenhyphenWI/s1600-h/IMG_2569.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLmj-GcDVRTCCWBR-ZhphXmR3Lk8H9k3n3RIa7M2nXVqAsmgCXO20yQCyCkubrKx5VsJH-40UCpHW6WWQ9PJSoy_-8LoonAhUD_ma9qytJYCXwGYXlRuuPlDMGTIn62RgCSj56Fc8hyphenhyphenWI/s400/IMG_2569.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207738591643553026" border="0" /></a><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >in the Museum</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:100%;">Then Kelly, Emily, and I went to go get a snack of <span style="font-style: italic;">dondurma</span> ( ice cream) and then sat waiting for the rest of our group to get to our meeting point. While we were waiting, a large Asian family walked near us, and one of the older men randomly wanted to take a few pictures with us. A little weird; we couldn't quite figure out why he wanted to...<br />So after our awesome tour, we headed to our classroom for a Turkish lesson with Hande. It was so much fun and informative, punctuated with hilarious moments which our group recognized with much laughter. Seems to be a common theme with us, something that I'm sure will be appreciated throughout the trip.<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR04ZAZIdLOYfjsxg_HQX2LehYgEHnxfRCRIECHUeXxc4PnHGFQZBEezSqqPp_8gVtaH4Y0QPAYIlHpdx3YfFMrZRP9ppiV5V1kbCCZzo9kBUxG_HTfSxSw0Wj9Z2Re-QhlIYgjzEXrEs/s1600-h/IMG_2635.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR04ZAZIdLOYfjsxg_HQX2LehYgEHnxfRCRIECHUeXxc4PnHGFQZBEezSqqPp_8gVtaH4Y0QPAYIlHpdx3YfFMrZRP9ppiV5V1kbCCZzo9kBUxG_HTfSxSw0Wj9Z2Re-QhlIYgjzEXrEs/s400/IMG_2635.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207742934922570274" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Turkish lesson at the medrese with Turkish tea<br /></span></span></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />After that, we took the Tunel, the second-oldest subway line in the world (next to the London Underground), up to Istiklal, saw a man bum a free ride by hopping on the back (it becomes above ground once it reaches Istiklal) and walked down to our flat. Then some dinner and back to Istiklal for some Efes and people-watching. Some interesting characters - a belching man, crazy woman yelling at a wall, and two friendly </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >polis</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> carrying semi-automatics and walking around Taksim Square.</span>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-19674275055012442512008-05-27T08:11:00.000-07:002008-05-27T12:26:49.124-07:00Çok Success!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdCsMozPVQr9TKgWcEu9kOS2962ToaWa1_Y59Mmn7IMmRhPGOxQn2hCUdaKhyphenhyphenP107RTQk0hjHJMNsvsxuBpaoKg0XiemzdG_XodYAv94eRU-tzV55uO89VCgo5rwITyCsTNR6YwAhV5Ts/s1600-h/IMG_2475.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdCsMozPVQr9TKgWcEu9kOS2962ToaWa1_Y59Mmn7IMmRhPGOxQn2hCUdaKhyphenhyphenP107RTQk0hjHJMNsvsxuBpaoKg0XiemzdG_XodYAv94eRU-tzV55uO89VCgo5rwITyCsTNR6YwAhV5Ts/s400/IMG_2475.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205140759146930706" border="0" /></a><br />Today we met in front of Topkapi Palace to explore Ottoman history firsthand.<span style=""> </span>Edward won the “Where’s William” game, spotting William from about 50 yards away.<span style=""> </span>Topkapi Palace was the residence of Ottoman sultans from the 1460’s until the mid-nineteenth century, and has loads of interesting stories, relics, and buildings.<span style=""> </span>Prof. Shields had enlisted the help of Leslie Pierce to enlighten us about Topkapi Palace and its history, especially the history of the harems.<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9kMfwJfMJ19EoG49WgFven0geEAtAbgbxbSX4ndMyXnhW31-ziAf7iBxDkqTvDyqXfuN11M8srgUpw7Dqi_-Q7kb48NEvOgOKUsFkaIaKXhyphenhyphenWknOZnSHYgLKOGVGaIF1lnxlEt48D_l0/s1600-h/IMG_2422.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9kMfwJfMJ19EoG49WgFven0geEAtAbgbxbSX4ndMyXnhW31-ziAf7iBxDkqTvDyqXfuN11M8srgUpw7Dqi_-Q7kb48NEvOgOKUsFkaIaKXhyphenhyphenWknOZnSHYgLKOGVGaIF1lnxlEt48D_l0/s400/IMG_2422.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205140741967061490" border="0" /></a>And what a rich and interesting history it has.<span style=""> </span>Topkapi Palace, in the tradition of Ottoman palaces, moves inwards to more and more private sections.<span style=""> </span>There are three concentric circles in Topkapi Palace, with the outer being the most public.<span style=""> </span>The outer circle was reserved for palace workers, especially artisans commissioned by the Sultan.<span style=""> </span>According to Ms. Pierce, it was a dirty, messy place.<span style=""> </span>What we noticed was the large amounts of stray cats wandering around.<span style=""> </span>Edward made the apt observation that “cats in Turkey are like squirrels at UNC.”<span style=""> </span>Wise words, Edward.<span style=""> </span>We then moved on to the middle circle, where the kitchens were.<span style=""> </span>There was a beautiful collection of Chinese porcelains and also celadon, which Ms. Pierce told us carried a legend about its green color changing when holding poisoned food.<span style=""> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Xj7ErmgTL-hAcYTmjVFD9HSAg_9yYxCBTX9wRFAzDvKMQpFm0vkobzlZbsM8U4d5RHaUXZo_AUVs6AFtY8SE0Q1ysCZrDYIiv5xS7bL8_oqTmGIqvOA7yG5vbGTzouE04ZkLBBiBtbw/s1600-h/IMG_2333.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Xj7ErmgTL-hAcYTmjVFD9HSAg_9yYxCBTX9wRFAzDvKMQpFm0vkobzlZbsM8U4d5RHaUXZo_AUVs6AFtY8SE0Q1ysCZrDYIiv5xS7bL8_oqTmGIqvOA7yG5vbGTzouE04ZkLBBiBtbw/s400/IMG_2333.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205140733377126866" border="0" /></a>Another building had a beautiful collection of Ottoman sultans’ clothing, and we wondered at their massive size, especially the enormous length of the sleeves.<span style=""> </span>Yekta inferred that the size of their clothing was used to demonstrate their immense power, but we forgot to ask Ms. Pierce about it.<span style=""> </span>Then we went to the place where the Divan, or the Council of Ministers, met.<span style=""> </span>There, the Sultan had a golden grate where he watched from above.<span style=""> </span>Talk about power symbolism…<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiDTr9v5CzkqpvoJFRzl_1QfAR_gIojhwmfwazOTGpNwK1Hu316U5CK8nfCx3xFJufKET70Lo_6AF7TSEhtWDn-7lf-ycSOIx15e7fT6ki2Ac0d-3LaePyuXSRIKrJ7BiyEBgt3XyL824/s1600-h/IMG_2348.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiDTr9v5CzkqpvoJFRzl_1QfAR_gIojhwmfwazOTGpNwK1Hu316U5CK8nfCx3xFJufKET70Lo_6AF7TSEhtWDn-7lf-ycSOIx15e7fT6ki2Ac0d-3LaePyuXSRIKrJ7BiyEBgt3XyL824/s400/IMG_2348.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205139968872948114" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">After that, it was on to the third and most inner circle and my favorite part of the day.<span style=""> </span>We entered into the Sultan’s Privy Chambers, where many relics are kept.<span style=""> </span>I told that to Thomas and he thought that it meant that the Sultan kept relics in his bathroom!<span style=""> </span>What a goof.<span style=""> </span>We were in this line, ad I wasn’t really sure what was going on, and then came to this unimpressive mount in the wall.<span style=""> </span>In it was a sword, and I glanced down at the plaque, wondering what it was.<span style=""> </span>You know David, from David and Goliath?<span style=""> </span>Yeah, it was his sword.<span style=""> </span>My jaw dropped about down to the floor.<span style=""> </span>The prof had not warned us about how awesome these relics were going to be!<span style=""> </span>What an amazing surprise.<span style=""> </span>Emily saw the next relic, took my David’s sword and raised me one.<span style=""> </span>You know Moses, who parted the Red Sea?<span style=""> </span>Saw the rod he parted it with.<span style=""> </span>The relics just kept getting more and more amazing.<span style=""> </span>Next came Joseph’s turban, dating back to 15-14<sup>th</sup> century BC.<span style=""> </span>(FYI, David’s sword dated to 10<sup>th</sup> century BC and Moses’ rod to 13<sup>th</sup> century BC.)<span style=""> </span>Then we saw the saucepan of Abraham, who had many sons, many sons had Father Abraham…<span style=""> </span>This one dated all the way back to 19<sup>th</sup>-20<sup>th</sup> century BC.<span style=""> </span>Some other relics we saw included the encased arm of John the Baptist, parts of his skull, a footprint of Muhammad impressed into some sort of material, and pieces of Muhammad’s beard.<span style=""> </span>It was interesting to me that in the room of the relics of Muhammad, the people were not overtly emotional.<span style=""> </span>I remembered the man who looked as if he had been crying in the mausoleum of the sultans and wondered why people were not more emotionally charged seeing pieces of their prophet’s beard.<span style=""> </span>Another amazing aspect of this room was the live reading of the Koran by a Muslim <i style="">imam</i> (priest) that was being projected over the loudspeakers into every room.<span style=""> </span>It gave a mystical and kind of chilling air to the experience, but in a good and spine-tingling way.<span style=""> </span>Oh, and no pictures were allowed, so if you want to see these awesome relics, I guess you will have to travel to Turkey!<span style=""> </span>But after reading my blog, all of you should want to anyways.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After that, it was on to the harem. We had read Ms. Pierce’s article on the harem the night before, so we were ready to see it in action (well, kind of in action).<span style=""> </span>It was also in the third circle, and was the most private place in the palace besides the Sultan’s quarters.<span style=""> </span>The history of the harem is quite fascinating, but I will not get into it deeply here.<span style=""> </span>As a brief overview, the harem was the place where the Sultan kept his concubines, but it had not always been within the palace walls.<span style=""> </span>Before Suleyman built quarters for his concubines, especially for his favorite concubine which he kind of made into his queen (a no-no for sultans), the concubines had been housed in the old palace within the city.<span style=""> </span>The harem, although suffering from misconceived notions from Westerners who have Hollywood-ized it, seemed more private and mystical than I had imagined.<span style=""> </span>It was guarded by eunuchs, but even they could only go a certain distance into the Harem Proper to deliver the food to the concubines.<span style=""> </span>Talk about isolation.<span style=""> </span>The harem itself was absolutely breathtaking, completely covered in blue and green tiles, from wall-to-wall.<span style=""> </span>The rest of the harem was also lavishly decorated, with red velvet divans and gorgeous chandeliers.<span style=""> </span>Amanda captured the essence of the harem when she said, “What did the concubines say to each other, ‘Meet me in the tiled room, you know the really awesome one?’<span style=""> </span>Yeah, that narrows it down…”<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4RgLVi7GZDy5Zgb3c_CZzSru1p5uPczy-d87uLhgCJH6PO9EQgXpE_CCZTrMbPeim5dTixmRCQD3m2k8R9Z7Em6c4xlkcxkFdxn3GtGbx_TgMAnMqXTf1_i2RNjCgfsH3sU78RK5JVA/s1600-h/IMG_2367.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4RgLVi7GZDy5Zgb3c_CZzSru1p5uPczy-d87uLhgCJH6PO9EQgXpE_CCZTrMbPeim5dTixmRCQD3m2k8R9Z7Em6c4xlkcxkFdxn3GtGbx_TgMAnMqXTf1_i2RNjCgfsH3sU78RK5JVA/s400/IMG_2367.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205139973167915426" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0WYhrR0DgXjzX1AcX6rMlAej_bUqzL-DG8Dmj_8jSmJOTEz9hxfsPX5F0-JoZ9nFLkzxDnQjcMJVuKe_kz4JylNPu1ybnhrZ1fMaqRYXvbwgsyRespBEHmB-mXV8jkwylBeX7NQQsLUI/s1600-h/IMG_2412.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0WYhrR0DgXjzX1AcX6rMlAej_bUqzL-DG8Dmj_8jSmJOTEz9hxfsPX5F0-JoZ9nFLkzxDnQjcMJVuKe_kz4JylNPu1ybnhrZ1fMaqRYXvbwgsyRespBEHmB-mXV8jkwylBeX7NQQsLUI/s400/IMG_2412.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205139977462882754" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh4CQs9At6xz6Dp_BF9v_6M1Ubht-_5tbwXO0fABHJjxUmjU-UvBWDt1Mp9E5cJ5ENsQR5Vi7J_FialiVQ4M8ASmGGm8K8EQcG9ynoqkjDgH-q5nFst8Iv05QR1CkrkWDQneIr0yDzsMk/s1600-h/IMG_2398.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh4CQs9At6xz6Dp_BF9v_6M1Ubht-_5tbwXO0fABHJjxUmjU-UvBWDt1Mp9E5cJ5ENsQR5Vi7J_FialiVQ4M8ASmGGm8K8EQcG9ynoqkjDgH-q5nFst8Iv05QR1CkrkWDQneIr0yDzsMk/s400/IMG_2398.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205139977462882738" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGOOlK8U6r_ax8Z-9Z8gzT2PHUpJp6fLumUf2ZdJM1M8MJ7PyuVwJxXp4fx7QTQJs9rrAqUBbjGhqs6gwmS5KGzs9Ywgw8tUdEOsAf69f9RMqVljL6r9dUYhQT4kOcoDVjgH_-FTtc3c/s1600-h/IMG_2434.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGOOlK8U6r_ax8Z-9Z8gzT2PHUpJp6fLumUf2ZdJM1M8MJ7PyuVwJxXp4fx7QTQJs9rrAqUBbjGhqs6gwmS5KGzs9Ywgw8tUdEOsAf69f9RMqVljL6r9dUYhQT4kOcoDVjgH_-FTtc3c/s400/IMG_2434.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205140746262028802" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd5tASSkcrDWuiNoFzQxTkQVPPbm6UMv86Mt8tuPwgu1j59fLrdHz3upeqiJWkTRmW4IAtdzuuIwM8y0xNOIGn6hEoed3bW4NYXMYW7gMT1OfwTCSBL32QaY6-nuVZF3tsuT9qpOjAJ-E/s1600-h/IMG_2421.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd5tASSkcrDWuiNoFzQxTkQVPPbm6UMv86Mt8tuPwgu1j59fLrdHz3upeqiJWkTRmW4IAtdzuuIwM8y0xNOIGn6hEoed3bW4NYXMYW7gMT1OfwTCSBL32QaY6-nuVZF3tsuT9qpOjAJ-E/s400/IMG_2421.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205140737672094178" border="0" /></a> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Our stomachs were fairly empty at that point, so we decided to head out of Topkapi in search of <i style="">kumpir</i>, or baked potatoes with about every topping in the world.<span style=""> </span>Another Amanda comment to aptly describe our hunger:<span style=""> </span>“I’m like eating my own <i style="">cokorec</i> (intestines).”<span style=""> </span>The normal <i style="">cokorec </i>that we eat is lamb intestines, with plenty of spices and on <i style="">ekmek</i> (bread).<span style=""> </span>We did not find a <i style="">kumpir </i>place before our hunger won out, so we ended up getting a delicious meal of <i style="">gozleme</i> which is kind of like a crepe.<span style=""> </span>Amanda and I wandered around afterwards, buying some Turkish delight after the nice man behind the counter gave us about 5000 samples.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I must insert here one of the mysteries of Turkey: how their economy works.<span style=""> </span>I kid you not, they have avenues of specific items for sale.<span style=""> </span>For instance, we live near Hardware Lane.<span style=""> </span>As in, there are stores who sell only sink faucets.<span style=""> </span>And about 80% of their wares are outside.<span style=""> </span>My favorite example of this is the button store.<span style=""> </span>Two stores, very near each other who sell only buttons.<span style=""> </span>Thousands upon thousands of buttons.<span style=""> </span>So last night, Amanda and I were talking about how we needed a bathmat and joked that we should go to the bathmat store.<span style=""> </span>Well, we found it today.<span style=""> </span>Not only did we find the bathmat store (who literally only sold bathmats), but we also found a Tarheel bathmat!<span style=""> </span>We were greatly enthused.<span style=""> </span>Amanda showed him the Tarheel pin on her bag to explain our enthusiasm, but clearly he did not understand because he just looked at us like were idiots and said, “Yes, foot…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dinner was an exciting event.<span style=""> </span>We are finally regulars!<span style=""> </span>We went to dinner at the <i style="">pilav</i> place on the corner of our street, and some people got <i style="">doneri </i>at the place next door.<span style=""> </span>I decided to try something that I had seen some people get at the restaurant before- it looked like patties of lentils mixed with spices.<span style=""> </span>I learned the word for it and tried to order (the owner, who I am inexplicably obsessed with but not in a creepy way, speaks ZERO English) but wanted the patties on a plate instead of in a wrap.<span style=""> </span>Apparently the word “portion” means portion for a family of eight, because I ordered a half portion and ended up with about 14 lentil patties the size of the chicken strips at Chick-Fil-A.<span style=""> </span>After serving me my enormous dinner and right after Edward commented that they had forgotten to get me a pita, the owner came out with a pita about the size of my body.<span style=""> </span>Everyone, including the employees and the other patrons were cracking up at me.<span style=""> </span>I had to literally fold my pita like a blanket in order to get it to fit on the table.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So the part about us being regulars- after a while, an employee at the <i style="">doner </i>place next to the <i style="">pilav</i> place came out with a tray of teas and gave us each one!<span style=""> </span>We are officially regulars, especially after I awkwardly in Turkish introduced myself to Mehmet, the owner of the <i style="">pilav</i> place.<span style=""> </span>Another hilarious thing – Zoe has been ordering pastries at the <i style="">doner </i>place completely wrong.<span style=""> </span>There is this phrase that goes around the trays of pastries that says “Afiyet Olsun” which Zoe has taken to mean the name of the pastries, so every time she orders, she has been pointing to the pastries and saying, “Afiyet olsun” as if she is naming the type of pastry she wants.<span style=""> </span>Apparently “afiyet olsun” is the Turkish equivalent of “bon appetite.”<span style=""> </span>Oh, Zoe, come back down to Earth.</p>Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4403355176073752178.post-51703519961693085392008-05-26T13:31:00.000-07:002008-05-26T14:12:41.411-07:00Flugtag!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYqIISipgwQ_HIJegBkwKtqTHmhdJJDTgLEmJsHvkOZ3l-0xdC81fm7B6_CGLwkNqMQQdLMcnJj1AM_RRl8YDSP63LBlwO9jmxusx3FG2TBgoaaXls6oIXY41Tm53l5jPDUAwzftiq7GI/s1600-h/IMG_2268.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYqIISipgwQ_HIJegBkwKtqTHmhdJJDTgLEmJsHvkOZ3l-0xdC81fm7B6_CGLwkNqMQQdLMcnJj1AM_RRl8YDSP63LBlwO9jmxusx3FG2TBgoaaXls6oIXY41Tm53l5jPDUAwzftiq7GI/s400/IMG_2268.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204797105928675650" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />So Saturday is nothing worth writing home about, literally. It was a day of rest and as Emily put it, it was a day for "recharging our batteries." Still a little jet-lagged plus some late nights and long days put us in need of a day of just hanging around our flat.<br /><br />Sunday we met William at 10:00 to ride the ferry from Karakoy to Kadikoy on the Asian side in order to go to the Red Bull Flugtag. This magical event happens in several cities around the world, and we got to go to the one in Istanbul! How cool. Basically, Flugtag consists of about twenty teams (at least for this event) who attempt to construct the zaniest, weirdest flying contraptions they can think of and proceed to fly them off a ramp and into the water. They are judged on distance, creativity and showmanship, but mainly on the latter two because none of the ones that we saw "flew" (more like half-glided) more than about 15 feet. Most of them just fell off of the ramp into the Bosphorous, many falling apart as soon as they went off the ramp! One in the shape of <span style="font-style: italic;">chai </span>(tea) in a Turkish tea glass even fell apart on the runway! Somehow though (Turkish nationalism, perhaps?), it received very high marks...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4uldg8sMpwfX0OLvOHGDoIS8K42TfuV_xvPY7sVbmW7LRVgvSaJVkmQqOHso_tjGXw-27FJU7rGKxeb4nF1nxKu7eWUwczpXXTGbCD1rHEj4gd0lcs6kYogw1VYZwg-RhdidaXI3P9A/s1600-h/IMG_2297.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4uldg8sMpwfX0OLvOHGDoIS8K42TfuV_xvPY7sVbmW7LRVgvSaJVkmQqOHso_tjGXw-27FJU7rGKxeb4nF1nxKu7eWUwczpXXTGbCD1rHEj4gd0lcs6kYogw1VYZwg-RhdidaXI3P9A/s400/IMG_2297.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204797114518610274" border="0" /></a><br />The day was VERY hot and was made even hotter by the thousands of people trying to get a good view of these crazy contraptions (we happened to snag a good spot!), so after a bit we decided to head back to the ferry to return to Europe. Some Turks also thought it was hot, and made hats out of newspapers! The weirdest part was that after one guy did it, like 4 others followed suit! Here are a few of those crazy Turks.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhksLiCXDVLBqcMvT2-gPxWgaxWjcMB8eYqdNbt7zknlkZxVmpT-nuDoNr1OKDZpaAgyirO2G5XS4zm2G2gPLs7jzSxv4awwGG-iF8XS_FK9FybASvWTrp34NVBeo2EEJqvQNsZi7TEtp8/s1600-h/IMG_2310.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhksLiCXDVLBqcMvT2-gPxWgaxWjcMB8eYqdNbt7zknlkZxVmpT-nuDoNr1OKDZpaAgyirO2G5XS4zm2G2gPLs7jzSxv4awwGG-iF8XS_FK9FybASvWTrp34NVBeo2EEJqvQNsZi7TEtp8/s400/IMG_2310.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204797114518610290" border="0" /></a><br />Although we had taken a bus to the event, no one felt like waiting forever for a crowded bus that would probably sit in traffic forever, so we decided to walk. It was quite hike, but the company (as always) was wonderful, and we saw some interesting things, like this Luis Vuitton Vespa scooter! <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA3966yfyMDIHOXdV4bUqzXbJHwcRGrmDXV0gf10NkDYRnCOQzohaJQm2pr8IC8TXREQZBMPy-sGXYFzMYw-t4BwgzVOZnlzdHhtGUYYKsSCdE3EII2j1zVGDRTGTWmO8E8atkcFmHUEY/s1600-h/IMG_2294.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA3966yfyMDIHOXdV4bUqzXbJHwcRGrmDXV0gf10NkDYRnCOQzohaJQm2pr8IC8TXREQZBMPy-sGXYFzMYw-t4BwgzVOZnlzdHhtGUYYKsSCdE3EII2j1zVGDRTGTWmO8E8atkcFmHUEY/s400/IMG_2294.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204797110223642962" border="0" /></a>Crazy Turks. I desperately needed some nourishment by the time we made our way back to Kadikoy, so Edward and I stooped for some <span style="font-style: italic;">lahmacun</span>, which is sort of like very thin-crust pizza with tomato sauce, lamb, and spices. DE-licious! Then it was onto the ferry and back to Europe. That night, searching for food that would actually fill us up (<span style="font-style: italic;">doner</span> doesn't go that far, and neither does 1 lira worth of rice <span style="font-style: italic;">pilav</span> and chickpeas!) we found a little <span style="font-style: italic;">kebap</span> restaurant off of Istiklal. It was awesome, and after a filling and delish meal of <span style="font-style: italic;">eskender</span>, shaved lamb in a tomato sauce with buttery, flaky bread underneath, we vowed to return to that restaurant for more fellowship and food.<br /><br />Then it was back to the flat for completing our reading on harems for our trip to Topkapi Palace tomorrow. We got a little sidetracked though and began a looong discussion about Dubai and its crazy tourism. For those of you not well-versed in the subject, please look up on it! Dubai is building "Dubailand," a theme park 30 times the size of Disney World! I love all the people on the trip - we always get into such good discussions, and I am learning so much from them!<br /><br />Sorry I don't have many pictures, but my standard zoom was not good enough to capture the flying contraptions! Please check out Edward or Clayton's blog for better pics! (They are linked on the side)Kristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16858120917658265817noreply@blogger.com0