It's Republic Day! The Republic of Turkey was established 86 years ago today. Hurrah!
This, in reality, means very little to Kaan and me. We were discussing it last night; he was saying something about how the minorities in Turkey probably don't care so much about the republic. This may or may not be accurate, but it got me thinking. I've nothing concrete to write about yet, but the wheels are certainly turning. In the States, our independence day is a pretty big deal. I feel like citizens and residents of all backgrounds get pretty into it. But then, what about the Native American communities? Do they do anything to celebrate? Something I'll have to find out.
As for me, it means school is closed. But, as it's Thursday (my day off), it doesn't make a difference. There are more Turkish flags than normal, but I think, otherwise, it's just another day.
But happy birthday Turkey! I'm glad you exist because if you didn't, it would make my study abroad very difficult.
Midterms are next week. I have two, in theory, but only one in actuality. Good luck to my friends and companions who are studying hard!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
oh, by the way, it's daylight savings
I wish someone had mentioned that to me on Saturday night. I suppose I just should have known, as some people do “just know”. Apparently it was in the paper on Saturday (which, of course, I don’t have much occasion to read). Kaan said he knew but forgot to tell me (which he often does). He also forgot to change his clock, so we were both rather surprised we realized it. I was supposed to meet some friends to go to the market at 11. As none of the clocks in the house had been changed, I got up and made ready for the day. I strolled into the café, sat down for some tea, and then realized I was running late. I hurriedly drank my tea and stood to leave, when I noticed the clock was only showing 5 till 10 (9:55). I called Kaan over, and we took turns looking between the clock, our cell phones, and each other. We finally determined it was, indeed, almost ten.
At this point, since I was supposed to meet some friends—perhaps they were just as clueless as I was—I decided to mosey on down the street toward our meeting point. I would wait for ten or fifteen minutes and, if they didn’t show, declare they were far more aware of the world than I was and return to the café. Luckily, my friend Niels came meandering by at exactly that time (especially fortunate as he was one of those whom I was going to meet!). We had a good chuckle at being so confused by the clocks and, with our newly discovered extra hour, decided to have breakfast. We did meet up with the other two friends at 11 and had a lovely jaunt through the market.
I like the market. There are lots of vegetables. I’m going to start cooking more as soon as I get some spices. Most of the spices that are readily available are things like mint and red pepper flakes. While I enjoy both of those tastes quite a lot, when a recipe calls for cumin, I don’t think either would be a proper substitute. So I’m tentatively scheduling a trip to the spice bazaar. I ought to make a list of what spices to buy. So far I’ve got cumin and cinnamon. Maybe also something like curry powder (or whatever makes up curry powder, since it itself is not a spice, but rather a mixture of spices. I didn’t know this previously.).
Apparently I’m feeling rather parenthetical today. I haven’t been sleeping very well because Kaan is sort of a bed-hog. For many years I slept on a twin mattress, so I don’t need that much space. However, he’s a pro at finding the prefect spot in just exactly the middle of the bed, so I get rather squished. My vocabulary doesn’t include things like “squished”, so I’m not sure how properly to tell him to pick a side and stick to it. As it happens, I get the house to myself during the day, so I have plenty of opportunities to nap. Perhaps soon I’ll become the newest siesta convert. We shall see.
The newest trend chez nous is Spider Solitaire. I could play this game for literally hours. When Kaan gets home from work, it’s among the first things he does. He’s gotten quite good. And since I didn’t actually –play- the game for the first year I used the application—the hint button can solve the entire puzzle for you—I was really impressed that he picked it up so quickly. He still doesn’t get one or two ideas (like wanting to win the game with the lowest number of moves), but he’s having fun and that’s enough for me.
Also, we’re both feeling the beginnings of a(nother) cold. Let’s hope it isn’t the flu formerly known as swine!
At this point, since I was supposed to meet some friends—perhaps they were just as clueless as I was—I decided to mosey on down the street toward our meeting point. I would wait for ten or fifteen minutes and, if they didn’t show, declare they were far more aware of the world than I was and return to the café. Luckily, my friend Niels came meandering by at exactly that time (especially fortunate as he was one of those whom I was going to meet!). We had a good chuckle at being so confused by the clocks and, with our newly discovered extra hour, decided to have breakfast. We did meet up with the other two friends at 11 and had a lovely jaunt through the market.
I like the market. There are lots of vegetables. I’m going to start cooking more as soon as I get some spices. Most of the spices that are readily available are things like mint and red pepper flakes. While I enjoy both of those tastes quite a lot, when a recipe calls for cumin, I don’t think either would be a proper substitute. So I’m tentatively scheduling a trip to the spice bazaar. I ought to make a list of what spices to buy. So far I’ve got cumin and cinnamon. Maybe also something like curry powder (or whatever makes up curry powder, since it itself is not a spice, but rather a mixture of spices. I didn’t know this previously.).
Apparently I’m feeling rather parenthetical today. I haven’t been sleeping very well because Kaan is sort of a bed-hog. For many years I slept on a twin mattress, so I don’t need that much space. However, he’s a pro at finding the prefect spot in just exactly the middle of the bed, so I get rather squished. My vocabulary doesn’t include things like “squished”, so I’m not sure how properly to tell him to pick a side and stick to it. As it happens, I get the house to myself during the day, so I have plenty of opportunities to nap. Perhaps soon I’ll become the newest siesta convert. We shall see.
The newest trend chez nous is Spider Solitaire. I could play this game for literally hours. When Kaan gets home from work, it’s among the first things he does. He’s gotten quite good. And since I didn’t actually –play- the game for the first year I used the application—the hint button can solve the entire puzzle for you—I was really impressed that he picked it up so quickly. He still doesn’t get one or two ideas (like wanting to win the game with the lowest number of moves), but he’s having fun and that’s enough for me.
Also, we’re both feeling the beginnings of a(nother) cold. Let’s hope it isn’t the flu formerly known as swine!
Saturday, October 24, 2009
well hello strangers
Yes, I do realize it's been at least 10 days since I wrote, and yes, I'm sorry about that! My good friend Evrim has reminded and gently encouraged me to write today, so here I am.
The sad part is that I have no real news. School is generally going well. We have midterms coming up in about a week and a half. Since I only have one or two midterms, I'm not worrying about those at all. I probably should get down to studying and such.
I wish I had some good stories about the wedding to tell, but I didn't end up going. I was really excited to go. I was even excited about the twenty hour bus ride! But on the morning of the trip, I was spending more time in the toilet than I was packing. I decided if I wasn't feeling better by 11, then I wouldn't try to embark on the trip. We were concerned that if I needed to yak (or worse!) we wouldn't be able to stop. Bus trips in Turkey only get a 15- or 20-minute break every few hours. It's probably very similar to bus trips in the States, but since I haven't ever taken a bus in the states, I don't rightly know.
So anyway, 11:00 came and went. I still wasn't feeling much better. We grudgingly decided that I wouldn't go. Instead of having a grand, uncomfortable adventure in the east of Turkey, I spent my weekend bawling and watching movies. I did end up deciding I need to locate a pirated DVD shop pronto; although I brought a great selection of movies with me, I've seen them all plenty of times. Plus, with pirated DVDs, Kaan and I can watch them together since they've got Turkish subtitles AND will play on my region one DVD player.
Other than feeling like a pathetic lump for most of the weekend and being generally upset at missing the wedding, I guess it was an okay couple of days. Kaan had some trouble getting home afterward (and his cousin ended up deleting the entire memory card of the camera, which had apparently been filled with photos and videos of the wedding). The buses weren't running, the money wasn't enough, the plane wasn't at the airport.. it was a problematic return leg for him. He did finally come back home, so things are more or less back to normal.
We've more or less settled into a routine. He gets up around 7:30 to get ready for work. Depending on the day, I either go to school or back to bed. After school, I generally come to the cafe for a couple of hours. If I don't have school, I head to the cafe for a couple of hours. Then I either head out to spend time with friends, or I return home. At home, before Kaan returns from work, I do some housewifey things (my mother would be so surprised!). I make the bed, clean the dishes, and pick up around the house. It's really a strange thing for me; my parents can attest to my general dislike of all things clean and organized. But somehow, living with Kaan is reason enough to take care of things. I think it's fair; he spends so much time working that it doesn't seem unreasonable to do my share of things at home. If only I had come to this conclusion years ago; my father would have been a much happier person overall.
I'm beginning correspondence with the Ankara embassy regarding a visa for Kaan. Wish us luck for that!
I think that's all I have to say. I really haven't been doing anything lately that might be considered worthy of a blog entry, but I am still alive and kickin'. Tomorrow I have plans to visit the market with a couple of friends from school. However, as I don't intend on buying anything, it'll most likely be more for the company than anything.
The sad part is that I have no real news. School is generally going well. We have midterms coming up in about a week and a half. Since I only have one or two midterms, I'm not worrying about those at all. I probably should get down to studying and such.
I wish I had some good stories about the wedding to tell, but I didn't end up going. I was really excited to go. I was even excited about the twenty hour bus ride! But on the morning of the trip, I was spending more time in the toilet than I was packing. I decided if I wasn't feeling better by 11, then I wouldn't try to embark on the trip. We were concerned that if I needed to yak (or worse!) we wouldn't be able to stop. Bus trips in Turkey only get a 15- or 20-minute break every few hours. It's probably very similar to bus trips in the States, but since I haven't ever taken a bus in the states, I don't rightly know.
So anyway, 11:00 came and went. I still wasn't feeling much better. We grudgingly decided that I wouldn't go. Instead of having a grand, uncomfortable adventure in the east of Turkey, I spent my weekend bawling and watching movies. I did end up deciding I need to locate a pirated DVD shop pronto; although I brought a great selection of movies with me, I've seen them all plenty of times. Plus, with pirated DVDs, Kaan and I can watch them together since they've got Turkish subtitles AND will play on my region one DVD player.
Other than feeling like a pathetic lump for most of the weekend and being generally upset at missing the wedding, I guess it was an okay couple of days. Kaan had some trouble getting home afterward (and his cousin ended up deleting the entire memory card of the camera, which had apparently been filled with photos and videos of the wedding). The buses weren't running, the money wasn't enough, the plane wasn't at the airport.. it was a problematic return leg for him. He did finally come back home, so things are more or less back to normal.
We've more or less settled into a routine. He gets up around 7:30 to get ready for work. Depending on the day, I either go to school or back to bed. After school, I generally come to the cafe for a couple of hours. If I don't have school, I head to the cafe for a couple of hours. Then I either head out to spend time with friends, or I return home. At home, before Kaan returns from work, I do some housewifey things (my mother would be so surprised!). I make the bed, clean the dishes, and pick up around the house. It's really a strange thing for me; my parents can attest to my general dislike of all things clean and organized. But somehow, living with Kaan is reason enough to take care of things. I think it's fair; he spends so much time working that it doesn't seem unreasonable to do my share of things at home. If only I had come to this conclusion years ago; my father would have been a much happier person overall.
I'm beginning correspondence with the Ankara embassy regarding a visa for Kaan. Wish us luck for that!
I think that's all I have to say. I really haven't been doing anything lately that might be considered worthy of a blog entry, but I am still alive and kickin'. Tomorrow I have plans to visit the market with a couple of friends from school. However, as I don't intend on buying anything, it'll most likely be more for the company than anything.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
recent developments
It's been a really slow day here at good ol' Cafe Nero, so I figured I'd post an update with the recent happenings.
I did decide to go to Ağrı for the wedding. Kaan and I decided that we'd be able to make/find enough food for me that I wouldn't have to go hungry. I decided the cultural experience of a traditional wedding was also a really important thing to see, especially since none of my Turkish friends will be marrying any time soon. I was excited to meet his family and see his village. We had decided to fly out Wednesday night or Thursday morning and return on Sunday night or Monday morning. This would mean that I'd have to miss two days of school, but sometimes absences are acceptable. There was a lot of drama over buying tickets, but we do finally have a reservation for two round-trip tickets. Now, there is an even bigger problem than food or tickets: there was a death in the bride's family. There's the chance that the wedding will be postponed for some time. I'm disappointed for Kaan's brother, but if we don't end up going this weekend, I won't be heartbroken. The wedding WILL happen; now it's just a matter of when. If we do go this weekend, I'll be sure to take lots of photos.
I ran into Doğan Amca again a couple of weeks ago. Jessi and I were walking down the street and saw his car. We peeked into the nearby shops to see if we could find him. He had been across the street, registering a new car with the local police station. Together, the three of us ventured to Karaköy to eat some amazing baklava. He said it was the best in Istanbul, and he was definitely right!
Some of you may know of my interest in learning about Islam, especially Sufism and Sufi groups. Turkey has been the birthplace of many Sufi movements, so being here has given me the opportunity to really explore some of these traditions. However, as with many things in Turkey, the opportunity is something I have to work for. This Doğan Amca fellow has been very helpful, but I haven't had much of a chance to cultivate the friendship and access these hidden traditions through him. Part of me is reluctant to get involved with anything that might require any sort of commitment; I suppose I have a slight commitment-phobia. But knowing him is a start.
As far as I understand, he goes to a Jerrahi tekke, in the same tradition in which I've done some exploration previously. There are a number of other Sufi traditions present in Turkey; the Mevlevis, commonly associated with the Rumi and the Bektaşis, associated with Hacı Bektaş are the two that come to mind. I don't know very much about these other two Sufi groups, but I do know the Bektaşis are closely related to the Alevis, another branch of Islam that interests me. While exploring Kadıköy with my friend Annika last week, I found a gentleman who self-identified as a Bektaşi. He offered, as Doğan Amca did, to show me around and, I suppose, serve as a sort of guide to the tradition. So far nothing has really come of either of these acquaintances (other than some delicious baklava!), but it's really comforting to know where to go if I get the nerve to start to really explore.
There isn't much to tell about school. Russian seems to be working out; I think I've come to an agreement with my professor about a class schedule. I think we sort of have a mutual understanding of what will happen, so that's a relief. Otherwise, there haven't really been any developments in school. I have a paper proposal coming up soon, so I need to start thinking about that. I guess I'll be spending some time in the library this week and next week!
I did finally get my residence permit. The last two trips were super easy--literally walk-in and walk-out. I'm really glad for this; after the four hour trip and ensuing frustrations I more than deserved an easy trip.
No luck on finding the cockroach eating spider, so we're still battling the damn things. I'd like to say we're winning, but they keep getting creative and hiding in new places. Someday we'll get those buggers!
I can't think of anything else that's happened in the last week, other than renewing my addiction to the Sims 3. Rest assured all my free time is spent manipulating the lives of my puny pixelated friends.
I did decide to go to Ağrı for the wedding. Kaan and I decided that we'd be able to make/find enough food for me that I wouldn't have to go hungry. I decided the cultural experience of a traditional wedding was also a really important thing to see, especially since none of my Turkish friends will be marrying any time soon. I was excited to meet his family and see his village. We had decided to fly out Wednesday night or Thursday morning and return on Sunday night or Monday morning. This would mean that I'd have to miss two days of school, but sometimes absences are acceptable. There was a lot of drama over buying tickets, but we do finally have a reservation for two round-trip tickets. Now, there is an even bigger problem than food or tickets: there was a death in the bride's family. There's the chance that the wedding will be postponed for some time. I'm disappointed for Kaan's brother, but if we don't end up going this weekend, I won't be heartbroken. The wedding WILL happen; now it's just a matter of when. If we do go this weekend, I'll be sure to take lots of photos.
I ran into Doğan Amca again a couple of weeks ago. Jessi and I were walking down the street and saw his car. We peeked into the nearby shops to see if we could find him. He had been across the street, registering a new car with the local police station. Together, the three of us ventured to Karaköy to eat some amazing baklava. He said it was the best in Istanbul, and he was definitely right!
Some of you may know of my interest in learning about Islam, especially Sufism and Sufi groups. Turkey has been the birthplace of many Sufi movements, so being here has given me the opportunity to really explore some of these traditions. However, as with many things in Turkey, the opportunity is something I have to work for. This Doğan Amca fellow has been very helpful, but I haven't had much of a chance to cultivate the friendship and access these hidden traditions through him. Part of me is reluctant to get involved with anything that might require any sort of commitment; I suppose I have a slight commitment-phobia. But knowing him is a start.
As far as I understand, he goes to a Jerrahi tekke, in the same tradition in which I've done some exploration previously. There are a number of other Sufi traditions present in Turkey; the Mevlevis, commonly associated with the Rumi and the Bektaşis, associated with Hacı Bektaş are the two that come to mind. I don't know very much about these other two Sufi groups, but I do know the Bektaşis are closely related to the Alevis, another branch of Islam that interests me. While exploring Kadıköy with my friend Annika last week, I found a gentleman who self-identified as a Bektaşi. He offered, as Doğan Amca did, to show me around and, I suppose, serve as a sort of guide to the tradition. So far nothing has really come of either of these acquaintances (other than some delicious baklava!), but it's really comforting to know where to go if I get the nerve to start to really explore.
There isn't much to tell about school. Russian seems to be working out; I think I've come to an agreement with my professor about a class schedule. I think we sort of have a mutual understanding of what will happen, so that's a relief. Otherwise, there haven't really been any developments in school. I have a paper proposal coming up soon, so I need to start thinking about that. I guess I'll be spending some time in the library this week and next week!
I did finally get my residence permit. The last two trips were super easy--literally walk-in and walk-out. I'm really glad for this; after the four hour trip and ensuing frustrations I more than deserved an easy trip.
No luck on finding the cockroach eating spider, so we're still battling the damn things. I'd like to say we're winning, but they keep getting creative and hiding in new places. Someday we'll get those buggers!
I can't think of anything else that's happened in the last week, other than renewing my addiction to the Sims 3. Rest assured all my free time is spent manipulating the lives of my puny pixelated friends.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
IMF Protests
Police Intervene in IMF Protest
al-Jazeera run down of the IMF protest
here's a news article. I'll post more later today.
I wrote this yesterday after I'd returned home. Just to clarify, according to the article linked above, the police used pepper spray, not tear gas. Still, it sucked. Sorry again for the typos.
[edit]
also, I want to mention that my thoughts at the end of this post seem to be accurate. The actual IMF protest was probably hijacked by extremist groups who just wanted to fight with the police. Also, there was vandalism in the Cihangir area just beyond the cafe. Today there have been some protests, but not in this area. I'm tremendously grateful for that.
There's the possibility that I'll be able to go to Kaan's brother's wedding next weekend. I'd very much like to go, but I'm concerned that I won't have much to eat and that I won't be able to talk to anyone. Most of his family speaks both Turkish and Kurdish, but I'm shy and don't really have much to say to most people. People will look at my hair and be very curious, I'm sure. I don't know if I can handle that level of scrutiny, especially with Kaan not nearby to explain/defend me. It'll come down to this: do I value my personal comfort more than seeing a really neat cultural event and meeting Kaan's family?
-------
IMF Protests
It seems like a lot of people dislike the IMF/World Bank, at least here in Istanbul. After spending three hours wrapped up in fear of the tear gas aimed at those protesting the IMF, I really dislike them as well, though not for the same reason as the protestors, who may potentially have legitimate concerns about organization. Oh no. I dislike the IMF/World Bank for the protestors it inspired and the three hours it took from my life (to be fair, I really dislike the protestors, too, and have no desire to hear why they dislike IMF/WB).
This morning when I woke up, I noticed an abnormal amount of police helicopters flying around overhead. Generally when there are helicopters flying around in the States, the police are tracking a suspect or news reporters are commenting on the local traffic. In Istanbul, apparently police helicopters means there’s going to be an event. Normally, the events that you see riot police gathering for are really rather tame, and now I know why. All those other tame protests are made up for by the ones that happen on days like today.
It started around 1030 or 1100. Kaan and I noted the police helicopters. His response to their presence was, “Maybe there will be an event.” I chortled, remembering my other protest experiences: a few people marching down the street with a megaphone and a banner, gathering in the middle of the street shouting, and then going home. Shortly after that brief exchange, the protesting started. All I heard was shouting. I tend to not pay attention to protests for the reason mentioned above—they’re usually pretty boring. I was NOT anticipating anything like today.
At some point, Kaan started to pick up that this protest was going to be big; there was a LOT of shouting. I didn’t pay much mind to it until around 1130, maybe. We heard some popping going off up the street. One of the nearby shopkeepers instructed Kaan to start pulling the napkins and such off of the outside tables. He did so with such speed! I, at this point, still had no idea what was going on. After pulling everything inside, he closed the doors of the café—something only done in the winter time and after hours. He shouted at me to go to the back, which I did. And then he started to cry.
After a few minutes of visiting with the fish in the back of the café, I got bored. I came out to sit with Kaan, who was still, remarkably, standing around outside. I started to get a tickle in my nose. Kaan explained that what they use is pepper, apparently. I’m not sure if they pepper spray protestors or tear gas them, but either way, it sucks. For a while, we all sat outside observing the general atmosphere. A few times the breeze would carry the tear gas over to us. It wasn’t anything big; I sneezed a couple times and thought, “Those wimps! This is nothing!”
Then a few canisters of tear gas were shot at the top of the street. Again, Kaan shouted for me to get inside. He came in and held the door shut as a cloud of tear gas floated by. It was completely white, like a blizzard. I couldn’t even see the tables of the café across the single-lane street. This time, my eyes started to sting and water. I could understand more why tear gas was an effective tool at protests, but I still couldn’t fully comprehend the pain of the experience. After a few minutes—ten maybe—everything returned to normal. Again, we sat outside and watched the protesting happen. The action had moved down a little bit, and we were hoping that it was done, that we were safe to go about our days.
But remember, this is Istanbul, where nothing is every easy. We turned on the news to watch some of the captured footage. We watched the police arrest a few protesters. I was beginning to think I’d be able to go to school after all (I had a class at 3, but many of the protests were going on exactly between the café and school). There was still quite a lot of tear gas floating around, and we had a few false alarms. I started to watch for masses of people running down the street; that, I said, is my cue to go inside. At this point, there was one patron in addition to Kaan and myself. He was particularly annoying because he wouldn’t do as Kaan said. If Kaan said to get inside, this gentleman would sip his tea. If Kaan said to go to the back, he would take one or two steps backward. Maybe after living through a few Worker’s Day protests the Turks of Taksim aren’t as fearful of collateral teargas as I am.
Anyway, the three of us are sitting outside when a huge wave of teargas hits us. I don’t know if a canister was shot nearby or what. It must’ve been, because I remember seeing another wave go by. Kaan was standing at the door, holding it shut. The patron was about halfway into the main room, and I was near the kitchen. I saw Kaan bent over, holding his hand to his mouth. I decided to go find a shirt for him to put over his face. I went to the back, but when I came out, he had run outside. The patron also left, for some reason. Maybe he saw Kaan run out and was afraid. As I came into the main room, a wave of teargas hit me right in the face. Not knowing what else to do, I grasped the tshirt to my face and looked around. Kaan had left. The patron had left. I was torn between wanting to hold the door shut and wanting to run to the back. Instead, I tried to find Kaan.
Kaan later told me he had left the cafe because he couldn’t breathe. To me, this doesn’t make much sense, but in a moment of panic, there isn’t much time for logic. I opened the door and stepped outside, looking for him. I saw him just to my left, curled up on the ground. ‘Good,’ I thought. ‘This is what I should do too. Kaan knows what to do.’ It never occurred to me that he might be in trouble; all I knew was that I trusted him and saw him on the ground, so I should lie down too. I went back in the café to do just that when I saw the men from across the street rush to Kaan and take him inside. He had fainted.
I felt like I’d lost my mind. I wanted to cry, I wanted to lie down, I wanted to rip my face off. My skin was burning, my eyes were welling up. I panicked; there was no one around, no one to tell me what to do. I wanted to throw the tshirt to the ground because I, too, couldn’t breathe through it. Every time I’d lift the thing away from my mouth, my skin and senses hurt that much more. I was so scared that Kaan wouldn’t be okay and that I’d die in the café all alone. Luckily for me, Kaan came back a few minutes later, grinning through his tears. I could hardly speak; my face was burning. He led me to the kitchen and squeezed a lemon into my hands. Following his orders, I started to rub it onto my skin, which only stung more. He kept giving me lemon juice, and I kept rubbing it onto my face. After what seemed like forever, he let me splash my face with water. All I could think about was how painful my skin was. And then, wonderfully, my next biggest concern was the snot dripping into my mouth.
I was really shaken up. I called my professor in tears, saying I wouldn’t come to school today due to the protests. He said he understood, for which I’m tremendously grateful. I probably could have gone; by the time I would have left, the protesting had died down tremendously. There were rumors of protests near my school, but nothing was on the news. After fifteen minutes or so, my face and sinuses and throat had all returned to normal, but I was so shaken up. I felt so useless! Poor Kaan had fainted, and all I’d done was walk up and down the café wondering what to do. Thank God for those neighbor men who took him inside and saved him.
In my defense, I’ve never been in anything like that in my entire life. The closest I’ve been to a riot was probably when the Avalanche won the Stanley Cup in like 1998 and Denver fans went crazy. While this wasn’t exactly a riot, it felt like one. There were police, gun shots, protesters, and tear gas on every corner. Even walking home today, one couldn’t avoid the sting of tear gas floating in the air. I’m so thankful that I was with Kaan at the café. If I had been alone at home (though it may not be pertinent because I don’t think the protests made it over here), at school, or out on the streets, I wouldn’t know what to do. In fact, I would be even more useless than I actually was because not only would I not know what to do, but I wouldn’t have anyone to rely on to help me figure it out.
So that was my tear gas/IMF protest experience. Kaan thinks tomorrow will be bad too. I have classes tomorrow, so I hope nothing will get in the way of that. I’m scared to be apart from Kaan; although it means getting tear gassed too, I’d rather be with him than be worried for him. We’ll just see how tomorrow pans out.
I think it’s so stupid, these protests. It seems to me that all these alternative philosophical groups like anarchists jump on board events like the IMF protest just for the publicity. I suppose an anarchist might oppose the IMF/World Bank, but I think the protest would have been more effective as a peaceful sit-down or something. I wonder if it was more of an opportunity to clash with the police and be rebellious than actually to demonstrate against the IMF. Then again, it could have been an actual protest with the violence initiated by the police. I joked with my mom that although I don’t have a residence permit, the police aren’t looking for illegal aliens; they’re too concerned with squashing dissident voices than looking for those who don’t have their stupid residence permit. How true is that? I don’t know. As an American, I have a rather negative view of the police and tend to side with civilians. In Turkey, the police are one of the most trusted institutions, just after the military. My experience with them has been less than ideal, so maybe I’m prone to bias and stereotypes. But I’d rather be biased and safe at home than be biased and teargassed.
On the plus side, I got my FedEx package today. I got my glasses and residence permit and a pair of socks. Woohoo!
And at least I got a long, interesting blog post out of today. There’s always a silver lining!
al-Jazeera run down of the IMF protest
here's a news article. I'll post more later today.
I wrote this yesterday after I'd returned home. Just to clarify, according to the article linked above, the police used pepper spray, not tear gas. Still, it sucked. Sorry again for the typos.
[edit]
also, I want to mention that my thoughts at the end of this post seem to be accurate. The actual IMF protest was probably hijacked by extremist groups who just wanted to fight with the police. Also, there was vandalism in the Cihangir area just beyond the cafe. Today there have been some protests, but not in this area. I'm tremendously grateful for that.
There's the possibility that I'll be able to go to Kaan's brother's wedding next weekend. I'd very much like to go, but I'm concerned that I won't have much to eat and that I won't be able to talk to anyone. Most of his family speaks both Turkish and Kurdish, but I'm shy and don't really have much to say to most people. People will look at my hair and be very curious, I'm sure. I don't know if I can handle that level of scrutiny, especially with Kaan not nearby to explain/defend me. It'll come down to this: do I value my personal comfort more than seeing a really neat cultural event and meeting Kaan's family?
-------
IMF Protests
It seems like a lot of people dislike the IMF/World Bank, at least here in Istanbul. After spending three hours wrapped up in fear of the tear gas aimed at those protesting the IMF, I really dislike them as well, though not for the same reason as the protestors, who may potentially have legitimate concerns about organization. Oh no. I dislike the IMF/World Bank for the protestors it inspired and the three hours it took from my life (to be fair, I really dislike the protestors, too, and have no desire to hear why they dislike IMF/WB).
This morning when I woke up, I noticed an abnormal amount of police helicopters flying around overhead. Generally when there are helicopters flying around in the States, the police are tracking a suspect or news reporters are commenting on the local traffic. In Istanbul, apparently police helicopters means there’s going to be an event. Normally, the events that you see riot police gathering for are really rather tame, and now I know why. All those other tame protests are made up for by the ones that happen on days like today.
It started around 1030 or 1100. Kaan and I noted the police helicopters. His response to their presence was, “Maybe there will be an event.” I chortled, remembering my other protest experiences: a few people marching down the street with a megaphone and a banner, gathering in the middle of the street shouting, and then going home. Shortly after that brief exchange, the protesting started. All I heard was shouting. I tend to not pay attention to protests for the reason mentioned above—they’re usually pretty boring. I was NOT anticipating anything like today.
At some point, Kaan started to pick up that this protest was going to be big; there was a LOT of shouting. I didn’t pay much mind to it until around 1130, maybe. We heard some popping going off up the street. One of the nearby shopkeepers instructed Kaan to start pulling the napkins and such off of the outside tables. He did so with such speed! I, at this point, still had no idea what was going on. After pulling everything inside, he closed the doors of the café—something only done in the winter time and after hours. He shouted at me to go to the back, which I did. And then he started to cry.
After a few minutes of visiting with the fish in the back of the café, I got bored. I came out to sit with Kaan, who was still, remarkably, standing around outside. I started to get a tickle in my nose. Kaan explained that what they use is pepper, apparently. I’m not sure if they pepper spray protestors or tear gas them, but either way, it sucks. For a while, we all sat outside observing the general atmosphere. A few times the breeze would carry the tear gas over to us. It wasn’t anything big; I sneezed a couple times and thought, “Those wimps! This is nothing!”
Then a few canisters of tear gas were shot at the top of the street. Again, Kaan shouted for me to get inside. He came in and held the door shut as a cloud of tear gas floated by. It was completely white, like a blizzard. I couldn’t even see the tables of the café across the single-lane street. This time, my eyes started to sting and water. I could understand more why tear gas was an effective tool at protests, but I still couldn’t fully comprehend the pain of the experience. After a few minutes—ten maybe—everything returned to normal. Again, we sat outside and watched the protesting happen. The action had moved down a little bit, and we were hoping that it was done, that we were safe to go about our days.
But remember, this is Istanbul, where nothing is every easy. We turned on the news to watch some of the captured footage. We watched the police arrest a few protesters. I was beginning to think I’d be able to go to school after all (I had a class at 3, but many of the protests were going on exactly between the café and school). There was still quite a lot of tear gas floating around, and we had a few false alarms. I started to watch for masses of people running down the street; that, I said, is my cue to go inside. At this point, there was one patron in addition to Kaan and myself. He was particularly annoying because he wouldn’t do as Kaan said. If Kaan said to get inside, this gentleman would sip his tea. If Kaan said to go to the back, he would take one or two steps backward. Maybe after living through a few Worker’s Day protests the Turks of Taksim aren’t as fearful of collateral teargas as I am.
Anyway, the three of us are sitting outside when a huge wave of teargas hits us. I don’t know if a canister was shot nearby or what. It must’ve been, because I remember seeing another wave go by. Kaan was standing at the door, holding it shut. The patron was about halfway into the main room, and I was near the kitchen. I saw Kaan bent over, holding his hand to his mouth. I decided to go find a shirt for him to put over his face. I went to the back, but when I came out, he had run outside. The patron also left, for some reason. Maybe he saw Kaan run out and was afraid. As I came into the main room, a wave of teargas hit me right in the face. Not knowing what else to do, I grasped the tshirt to my face and looked around. Kaan had left. The patron had left. I was torn between wanting to hold the door shut and wanting to run to the back. Instead, I tried to find Kaan.
Kaan later told me he had left the cafe because he couldn’t breathe. To me, this doesn’t make much sense, but in a moment of panic, there isn’t much time for logic. I opened the door and stepped outside, looking for him. I saw him just to my left, curled up on the ground. ‘Good,’ I thought. ‘This is what I should do too. Kaan knows what to do.’ It never occurred to me that he might be in trouble; all I knew was that I trusted him and saw him on the ground, so I should lie down too. I went back in the café to do just that when I saw the men from across the street rush to Kaan and take him inside. He had fainted.
I felt like I’d lost my mind. I wanted to cry, I wanted to lie down, I wanted to rip my face off. My skin was burning, my eyes were welling up. I panicked; there was no one around, no one to tell me what to do. I wanted to throw the tshirt to the ground because I, too, couldn’t breathe through it. Every time I’d lift the thing away from my mouth, my skin and senses hurt that much more. I was so scared that Kaan wouldn’t be okay and that I’d die in the café all alone. Luckily for me, Kaan came back a few minutes later, grinning through his tears. I could hardly speak; my face was burning. He led me to the kitchen and squeezed a lemon into my hands. Following his orders, I started to rub it onto my skin, which only stung more. He kept giving me lemon juice, and I kept rubbing it onto my face. After what seemed like forever, he let me splash my face with water. All I could think about was how painful my skin was. And then, wonderfully, my next biggest concern was the snot dripping into my mouth.
I was really shaken up. I called my professor in tears, saying I wouldn’t come to school today due to the protests. He said he understood, for which I’m tremendously grateful. I probably could have gone; by the time I would have left, the protesting had died down tremendously. There were rumors of protests near my school, but nothing was on the news. After fifteen minutes or so, my face and sinuses and throat had all returned to normal, but I was so shaken up. I felt so useless! Poor Kaan had fainted, and all I’d done was walk up and down the café wondering what to do. Thank God for those neighbor men who took him inside and saved him.
In my defense, I’ve never been in anything like that in my entire life. The closest I’ve been to a riot was probably when the Avalanche won the Stanley Cup in like 1998 and Denver fans went crazy. While this wasn’t exactly a riot, it felt like one. There were police, gun shots, protesters, and tear gas on every corner. Even walking home today, one couldn’t avoid the sting of tear gas floating in the air. I’m so thankful that I was with Kaan at the café. If I had been alone at home (though it may not be pertinent because I don’t think the protests made it over here), at school, or out on the streets, I wouldn’t know what to do. In fact, I would be even more useless than I actually was because not only would I not know what to do, but I wouldn’t have anyone to rely on to help me figure it out.
So that was my tear gas/IMF protest experience. Kaan thinks tomorrow will be bad too. I have classes tomorrow, so I hope nothing will get in the way of that. I’m scared to be apart from Kaan; although it means getting tear gassed too, I’d rather be with him than be worried for him. We’ll just see how tomorrow pans out.
I think it’s so stupid, these protests. It seems to me that all these alternative philosophical groups like anarchists jump on board events like the IMF protest just for the publicity. I suppose an anarchist might oppose the IMF/World Bank, but I think the protest would have been more effective as a peaceful sit-down or something. I wonder if it was more of an opportunity to clash with the police and be rebellious than actually to demonstrate against the IMF. Then again, it could have been an actual protest with the violence initiated by the police. I joked with my mom that although I don’t have a residence permit, the police aren’t looking for illegal aliens; they’re too concerned with squashing dissident voices than looking for those who don’t have their stupid residence permit. How true is that? I don’t know. As an American, I have a rather negative view of the police and tend to side with civilians. In Turkey, the police are one of the most trusted institutions, just after the military. My experience with them has been less than ideal, so maybe I’m prone to bias and stereotypes. But I’d rather be biased and safe at home than be biased and teargassed.
On the plus side, I got my FedEx package today. I got my glasses and residence permit and a pair of socks. Woohoo!
And at least I got a long, interesting blog post out of today. There’s always a silver lining!
Sunday, October 4, 2009
adventures in bureaucracy--say what?!
As some of you may know, a foreigner wishing to stay in Turkey for longer than three months must apply for a residence permit. Having been in Turkey for the 2006/2007 academic school year, I had already applied for and received such a permit. However, upon my return to the states in June of 2007, I imagined the permit useless and stashed it in a drawer with my other trip mementos. Its location moved around and around until settling into a drawer on my desk. After two years, I had forgotten about it. When I decided to study again in Turkey, I didn't think I would need to bring my old one. I thought it was a one-time thing! How was I to know? I suppose every person must take control of his or her knowledge, but AFS didn't explain anything about the permit to us. I didn't think to look anything up. I just assumed it was a one time deal.
Operating in this mindset, thinking that I'd apologize for having lost the thing and they'd chide me and reissue the permit, was clearly a mistake. I made my application and showed up for my appointment at the police station. I waited for four hours (the idea of the appointment is a joke. It works to limit the number of people who show up any given day, but the appointment is only to take a number. You can take a number on time and still end up waiting four hours for your number to come up.) with Kaan, only to be told that we were missing the slip of paper indicating it had been lost.
Say what?! I'm standing right in front of you saying it's been lost! But of course, that isn't ever enough. So we leave to try to find this slip of paper. Apparently all that needs to be done is go to a jail (I don't know how else to explain it. Anywhere with police is a police station to me, but here somehow there are different places. The police station where we were was NOT the police station that could issue the necessary document) and announce the document missing. At that point, the idea is the policemen will write out this little paper, sign it, and stamp it; that should have been the end of it.
So Kaan and I find the nearest jail and obtain this piece of paper. We walk and walk and walk, getting increasingly more annoyed with each other and with the situation. Finally, we find the jail. We are getting hopeful; maybe we'll be able to finish the application process today and it'll be so easy! We walk into the station and are quickly reminded that nothing is easy in bureaucracy.
The police officer sitting at the desk takes one look at us and declares, "We don't do that anymore." Say what?! I can hardly believe this. Maybe it was a recent change and the guy at the OTHER police station just hadn't heard yet. Still hopeful, we returned to the first place, where the almost helpful policeman still wouldn't give me my residence permit. I had let Kaan do most of the talking, so I didn't hear or understand very much. What I did gather was that any and every jail should be able to issue this slip. I guess the police officer at the other jail just didn't feel like working.
Having nothing left to do but get this damned piece of paper, Kaan and I decided to try our luck at another jail. We made our way back to Taksim and up to the door of the police station. The guard standing there listened to our tale and seemed sympathetic. Maybe this would be more successful! Unfortunately, he said, he was practically the only person around and wouldn't be able to help us at the moment. "Come back in two hours," he said. We went to a cafe and hung out, watching a soccer (futbol) game to pass the time.
Two hours later, we returned to the police station. Our helpful friend was nowhere to be seen. Instead, we walked up to another officer in the building and explained our situation. He listened and chided me for being irresponsible. "How could you lose a document like this? Who does that?" I sighed and wanted to roll my eyes. Yes, I lost it (though not really. I just didn't bring it and didn't remember where I had put it!). Yes, it was irresponsible and stupid. But does that mean I have to be talked down to? I was peeved. But did he accept my idiocy and write the sheet of paper? No. He continued, abusing Kaan and our relationship. "Doesn't she have any other Turkish speaking friends? You're making me mad. Take your American and go the bar or the disco or whatever you're doing here. Get out of my face, you're making me mad."
Again, say what? Not only did he not want to do his damned job by writing the slip of paper, he was completely rude about it. I noticed Kaan's anger rising, and we obediently left. I can't tell if the officer was just a jerk, or if he was put off by our appearance together. Kaan's being a Kurd always worries me when we're together in a situation like that; so many people will jump to conclusions about his intentions and will refuse to believe that we do know and love each other. Is it so unreasonable that a foolish, irresponsible American could really actually love a poor, working Kurd? By the way some people look at us and treat us, you'd think it was.
Anyway, that final encounter ended a day of disappointments (except for the soccer match; my team won!). Not only had we waiting IN VAIN for FOUR HOURS, we were tired and feeling very disrespected. We were no closer to getting the residence permit than we were when we had set out at noon. I called my mom in desperation and explained what had happened. I asked her to start looking for the thing again. I named off locations where I might have put it. She, too, searched in vain. We gave up, joking that as soon as I came home I'd be able to pull it out of wherever it was. Kaan and I were not looking forward to the possibility of facing more rude police officers in an attempt at getting this 'lost document' form. We decided to venture to the American Consulate for help; that is what it's there for, right? Something like that. We decided that we'd go and show up and explain the situation. They'd be obligated to issue a statement that these asshole policemen would be obliged to write me this damn piece of paper. Then, we'd go back to the first police station and get my residence permit.
At least we had a plan, no matter how far reaching. We went to bed confident that everything would soon be resolved. And really, it shouldn't have been such a big deal. I had everything I needed, minus this ONE slip of paper. I was TRYING to follow the laws and do what was required of me. The problem was lazy, possibly racist and definitely rude police officers were refusing to do THEIR job and get me the document I needed to follow the law. It was just a silly, strange predicament. As a result of the stressful and hurtful day, I didn't sleep very well. I kept having these horrible anxiety dreams about what would happen if I didn't get the residence permit.
Despite not sleeping well, I awoke in the morning with a slowly forming idea. At 730am it had fully developed. Hurriedly, I called my mother (thankfully it was only 1030 or so there, I didn't have to wake her up!) and recited my discovery. The residence permit was in a plastic box inside a cardboard box in my basement in Colorado Springs. My mom quickly unpacked the box and pulled out the little blue book in triumph. Finally! The plan was, then, to scan the pages, email them to me, and then FedEx the book to Kaan's cafe so that we could return to the police station as soon as possibly.
The FedEx package is currently in Paris. I'm almost ready to start hoping that maybe we can solve this residence permit nonsense soon. Later that day, Friday, I decided to try to start another application (because the old one said I had lost it. now that we've found it, I can just say it's for renewal or something) and make another appointment. I left for school early in the morning to use the internet and discovered all the appointments were full. The earliest appointment I could secure was at the end of October. Ugh! I called Kaan to ask what to do. He decided that when we get the residence permit from FedEx (hopefully tomorrow!), we'll storm the police station, show up without an appointment and without a number, and demand that they finish my application.
I really hope it works. I'm not looking forward to being 'illegal' for a whole month. I have my doubts, however. It seems reasonable that they'd be particularly anal about my application and appointment. I'm anticipating getting there and barging in, only to be told to make an application and an appointment. I guess we'll see. At least this time I'll have the residence permit, even if it did expire two years ago. Inevitably, this will offer another set of problems to deal with.. but at least I have the damn thing.
On Friday, instead of going to the Consulate, Jessi and I went on another adventure together. Unfortunately for all of you, I'm really exhausted after recounting my Thursday experience. Maybe I'll type it up at home and post it tomorrow. But maybe not. If my package arrives tomorrow, Kaan and I will probably go to the police station. If it doesn't come, I have to go to school at one or something for the level one Russian class. Boo hoo. I still have to figure out what I'm going to do about that.
Until then, I highly recommend MLIA. It's wonderful.
Operating in this mindset, thinking that I'd apologize for having lost the thing and they'd chide me and reissue the permit, was clearly a mistake. I made my application and showed up for my appointment at the police station. I waited for four hours (the idea of the appointment is a joke. It works to limit the number of people who show up any given day, but the appointment is only to take a number. You can take a number on time and still end up waiting four hours for your number to come up.) with Kaan, only to be told that we were missing the slip of paper indicating it had been lost.
Say what?! I'm standing right in front of you saying it's been lost! But of course, that isn't ever enough. So we leave to try to find this slip of paper. Apparently all that needs to be done is go to a jail (I don't know how else to explain it. Anywhere with police is a police station to me, but here somehow there are different places. The police station where we were was NOT the police station that could issue the necessary document) and announce the document missing. At that point, the idea is the policemen will write out this little paper, sign it, and stamp it; that should have been the end of it.
So Kaan and I find the nearest jail and obtain this piece of paper. We walk and walk and walk, getting increasingly more annoyed with each other and with the situation. Finally, we find the jail. We are getting hopeful; maybe we'll be able to finish the application process today and it'll be so easy! We walk into the station and are quickly reminded that nothing is easy in bureaucracy.
The police officer sitting at the desk takes one look at us and declares, "We don't do that anymore." Say what?! I can hardly believe this. Maybe it was a recent change and the guy at the OTHER police station just hadn't heard yet. Still hopeful, we returned to the first place, where the almost helpful policeman still wouldn't give me my residence permit. I had let Kaan do most of the talking, so I didn't hear or understand very much. What I did gather was that any and every jail should be able to issue this slip. I guess the police officer at the other jail just didn't feel like working.
Having nothing left to do but get this damned piece of paper, Kaan and I decided to try our luck at another jail. We made our way back to Taksim and up to the door of the police station. The guard standing there listened to our tale and seemed sympathetic. Maybe this would be more successful! Unfortunately, he said, he was practically the only person around and wouldn't be able to help us at the moment. "Come back in two hours," he said. We went to a cafe and hung out, watching a soccer (futbol) game to pass the time.
Two hours later, we returned to the police station. Our helpful friend was nowhere to be seen. Instead, we walked up to another officer in the building and explained our situation. He listened and chided me for being irresponsible. "How could you lose a document like this? Who does that?" I sighed and wanted to roll my eyes. Yes, I lost it (though not really. I just didn't bring it and didn't remember where I had put it!). Yes, it was irresponsible and stupid. But does that mean I have to be talked down to? I was peeved. But did he accept my idiocy and write the sheet of paper? No. He continued, abusing Kaan and our relationship. "Doesn't she have any other Turkish speaking friends? You're making me mad. Take your American and go the bar or the disco or whatever you're doing here. Get out of my face, you're making me mad."
Again, say what? Not only did he not want to do his damned job by writing the slip of paper, he was completely rude about it. I noticed Kaan's anger rising, and we obediently left. I can't tell if the officer was just a jerk, or if he was put off by our appearance together. Kaan's being a Kurd always worries me when we're together in a situation like that; so many people will jump to conclusions about his intentions and will refuse to believe that we do know and love each other. Is it so unreasonable that a foolish, irresponsible American could really actually love a poor, working Kurd? By the way some people look at us and treat us, you'd think it was.
Anyway, that final encounter ended a day of disappointments (except for the soccer match; my team won!). Not only had we waiting IN VAIN for FOUR HOURS, we were tired and feeling very disrespected. We were no closer to getting the residence permit than we were when we had set out at noon. I called my mom in desperation and explained what had happened. I asked her to start looking for the thing again. I named off locations where I might have put it. She, too, searched in vain. We gave up, joking that as soon as I came home I'd be able to pull it out of wherever it was. Kaan and I were not looking forward to the possibility of facing more rude police officers in an attempt at getting this 'lost document' form. We decided to venture to the American Consulate for help; that is what it's there for, right? Something like that. We decided that we'd go and show up and explain the situation. They'd be obligated to issue a statement that these asshole policemen would be obliged to write me this damn piece of paper. Then, we'd go back to the first police station and get my residence permit.
At least we had a plan, no matter how far reaching. We went to bed confident that everything would soon be resolved. And really, it shouldn't have been such a big deal. I had everything I needed, minus this ONE slip of paper. I was TRYING to follow the laws and do what was required of me. The problem was lazy, possibly racist and definitely rude police officers were refusing to do THEIR job and get me the document I needed to follow the law. It was just a silly, strange predicament. As a result of the stressful and hurtful day, I didn't sleep very well. I kept having these horrible anxiety dreams about what would happen if I didn't get the residence permit.
Despite not sleeping well, I awoke in the morning with a slowly forming idea. At 730am it had fully developed. Hurriedly, I called my mother (thankfully it was only 1030 or so there, I didn't have to wake her up!) and recited my discovery. The residence permit was in a plastic box inside a cardboard box in my basement in Colorado Springs. My mom quickly unpacked the box and pulled out the little blue book in triumph. Finally! The plan was, then, to scan the pages, email them to me, and then FedEx the book to Kaan's cafe so that we could return to the police station as soon as possibly.
The FedEx package is currently in Paris. I'm almost ready to start hoping that maybe we can solve this residence permit nonsense soon. Later that day, Friday, I decided to try to start another application (because the old one said I had lost it. now that we've found it, I can just say it's for renewal or something) and make another appointment. I left for school early in the morning to use the internet and discovered all the appointments were full. The earliest appointment I could secure was at the end of October. Ugh! I called Kaan to ask what to do. He decided that when we get the residence permit from FedEx (hopefully tomorrow!), we'll storm the police station, show up without an appointment and without a number, and demand that they finish my application.
I really hope it works. I'm not looking forward to being 'illegal' for a whole month. I have my doubts, however. It seems reasonable that they'd be particularly anal about my application and appointment. I'm anticipating getting there and barging in, only to be told to make an application and an appointment. I guess we'll see. At least this time I'll have the residence permit, even if it did expire two years ago. Inevitably, this will offer another set of problems to deal with.. but at least I have the damn thing.
On Friday, instead of going to the Consulate, Jessi and I went on another adventure together. Unfortunately for all of you, I'm really exhausted after recounting my Thursday experience. Maybe I'll type it up at home and post it tomorrow. But maybe not. If my package arrives tomorrow, Kaan and I will probably go to the police station. If it doesn't come, I have to go to school at one or something for the level one Russian class. Boo hoo. I still have to figure out what I'm going to do about that.
Until then, I highly recommend MLIA. It's wonderful.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)