Turkish Muse

Lessons on Standing Up for Yourself

Yesterday we took our two cats Lou and Andy (both imported from America when we came to Turkey two and a half years ago) to the vet to get their nails clipped before leaving for the US on Tuesday. (Clipping their nails before we leave on a trip ensures minimal damage to my belongings. So does rolling up the carpets and putting them away.)

 

Lou and Andy

Both cats have gingivitis, something our vet Can was seeing for the first time yesterday. They've had bad teeth and gums since they were kittens, and a vet in Philadelphia told us three years ago that gum disease would continue to be a problem as Lou and Andy got older.

But Can's mind went to more sinister territory. As he showed me in his Turkish vet medical book, 25-30% of cats with feline immunodeficiency virus -- essentially, cat AIDS -- present with gingivitis symptoms. That's nice, I said, but they've already been vaccinated against AIDS, PLUS they've both have gingivitis since they were 3 months old.

Can wasn't having it. We went around and around, him telling us that gum disease is a clear sign of cat AIDS, me telling him that a) they've been vaccinated; b) they've had gingivitis since they were babies; and c) they exhibit no other symptoms of AIDS.

Assuming that I must have misunderstood him and did not grasp the magnitude of the situation, Can called his English-speaking friend Gul over to translate. She proceeded to tell me everything Can was telling me. Just in English.

"I understand everything you're saying," I told Can. "But it is impossible that they have cat AIDS. What you're saying doesn't make any sense."

"I am 99% sure they have AIDS," he told his assistant. In front of me. Striking fear into my heart.

Now, as anyone with a pet can attest, this is classic vet behavior. My cats are perfectly healthy, minus a bit of gum disease, but what vet is going to accept that? What vet can resist proclaiming that your cat needs a $240 test for this, or a $150 blood sample for that?

And to be honest, Can and I have been at loggerheads before. A few days ago, in fact, I took Phoenix and Frankie in to have their nails clipped and was berated for not bringing my cats in every three months for anti-parasite medicine.

But I feel that this issue is much larger than vet-takes-advantage-of-cat-loving-foreigners-willing-to-do-anything-to-ensure-said-cats'-health.

I think there are other issues at play here regarding different cultural assumptions, my lack of trust in Turkish veterinary science, and also, my weakness in standing up for myself and my beliefs in the face of what I consider questionable customs.

There are some cultural differences that are completely innocuous and whether or not you subscribe to them is generally unimportant to how you live your expat life here in Turkey. Wearing slippers in the house, for example. Afternoon tea. Putting on an undershirt in the winter.

But expats also must deal with much larger cultural differences sometimes and most of my experience with these has been at the vet's office. I am, in general, skeptical of most vets in Turkey, and doctors, for that matter. I do not trust doctors to always know what is best for me (or my cats), the way that 73% of Americans do. And I do not have a lot of faith in Turkish vets (see here).

Despite this, when faced with the threat -- and I do not use this term lightly -- that my cats might have AIDS, well, Jeff and I did the only thing responsible pet owners would do: we authorized the test. That is, when confronted with the idea that my precious little babies might have a life-altering disease for which there is no cure, I went with the one thing that would ease my mind: a 240 TL blood test to tell me what I really already knew: Lou and Andy don't have cat AIDS.

Which, I should point out, was always obvious to me. But that makes me the dumb one in this situation, doesn't it?, since I essentially gave in to the vet's scaremongering tactics. I failed to stand up for myself, and indeed my cats, who were subjected to a quite unnecessary and stressful blood draw.

So the question I want to throw out there today is: How do you stand up for yourself in the face of differences -- whether cultural or not -- when you believe firmly that you are in the right?

Whether at the vet's office or the doctor's office, whether on behalf of your cat, your child or yourself, how do you say to a Turk, "No, I don't believe/trust/follow you"? How do you stand up for yourself when you are entrenched in an established community with certain beliefs and protocols that you simply don't subscribe to?

On Going Home Again

A little more than a week from today -- next Tuesday, February 9, to be exact -- I will begin the arduous, 14-hour journey to the US where I will spend 10 days visiting family.

I have many mixed feelings about this trip. On the one hand, I am looking forward to seeing my family, some of whom I have not seen for two and a half years, and on the other hand, I am dreading the travel time it requires to get from Izmir to Istanbul to New York City to Connecticut to central Pennsylvania to Philadelphia to New York City again to Istanbul to Izmir.

All in 10 days.

Gug.

Unlike some of my other expat friends, I don't get back to the US very often. In the two and a half years that we have lived in Turkey, Jeff and I have gone back once, in August 2008, when he defended his dissertation in Philadelphia. Our immediate families have all come to visit us at least once during the time we've been here, and for that reason, it has not been particularly pressing that we get back.

But it only seemed fair that we go back now because, after all, it's been a year and a half since we've last been. Plus, February is when Jeff has his semester break from school and airfare to the US is much, much cheaper now than it is in the summer months, when I would much prefer to spend my holiday in Cesme than the eastern seaboard. Sorry, Pennsytucky, but you got nothing on the Aegean.

There are some things about the US -- other than seeing family -- that I am sincerely looking forward to. Mexican food, for example. Indian food. Pubs. Stocking up on tampons and Tylenol at Target. And visiting some of our favorite old haunts in Philadelphia, where I plan to gorge on shopping and drinking and eating for 48 whole hours.

There is really not much that I miss about the US. Forgive me if that sounds flip or cruel, but it is true. Although sometimes I do get frustrated with Turkey and sometimes I do romanticize life elsewhere (although usually my fantasies take place in the UK or France, not the US), I really do like Turkey. If I didn't, I would hightail it outta here in a heartbeat.

I sometimes wonder if I am an anomaly among expats, like I should be really, really excited to go home all the time every time.

I am wondering how you all feel about going "home", wherever that may be. Do you go back every chance you get? Are you always excited to go back? Or are you conflicted about it like I am?

Western Gild

"All that glitters is not gold." -- Merchant of Venice, William Shakespeare

Read part one of our story here

So off we went back to the Darty, each of us lugging the now opened box containing six speakers and a DVD player. We entered the store and were immediately accosted by a sales representative. What ho! Actual customer service?! We were not thusly greeted upon our first entrance mere hours ago.

The man looked quizzically at us and asked, "Does it not work?"

"Oh, it works," I said. "But we don't want it."

He pointed to the cash register, where I was headed already. Off we trudged to the same register where we had paid 400 TL for our Panasonic DVD player and surround-sound stereo system. I presented my receipt and said, in my best Turkish:

"We would like our money back."

The smile on the sales lady's face quickly flattened. "It doesn't work?" she asked.

"It works," I said. "But not for us."

I knew this was puzzling, and I attempted in my best Turkish to explain that a region 2 DVD player would not play our US DVDs, only European ones. Because that was the case, a lot of our media wouldn't work on this machine.

"Ah," she said. "It works, but not for you."

Exactly. But this was not enough. The manager, too, had to hear our story.

"There is no such thing as a region," he said with a huff after we explained the situation. "This DVD player will play all DVDs."

Um, no, it won't. See the little "2" on the side here? Yeah, see, we didn't see that when we bought it -- our mistake, obviously -- so now we want to return it. Everything's here, in the box and I've got the receipt. Look how organized I am.

The manager asked to see my debit card, the one I had used to pay 300 TL of the 400 TL stereo system. Immediately he shook his head. "No, no, this won't do," he said in Turkish. "See here? It doesn't have a shiny silver stamp on it like this one" -- and here he pulled out his wallet and a Visa card -- "so I can't put the money back on this card."

I stared at him. I didn't understand. My card was a Visa card. They took the card, took the money, but they couldn't refund the money with the card? Well, that's just dumb.

By this point, a man who spoke fluent English was acting as mediator between the manager and myself.

The manager offered an alternative: he would send all the paperwork to Istanbul, which would then refund my money in 2-3 weeks.

I burst out laughing. "Are you crazy?" I said. "No way, absolutely not. I have lived long enough in Turkey to know that that is not going to work. Uh huh. Come up with another solution."

The only other solution, as you may have guessed by now, was to take 400 TL in store credit. But I had only paid 300 TL on the card, I said, so I should get 100 TL back in cash. That only makes sense. Plus, I couldn't possibly spend 300 TL in the store. There was literally nothing else that I needed.

But getting my cash back wasn't an option either. Why, I am not really sure.

"The machine will not let us do that," the manager said.

"Well, you're the manager, can't you override the machine? That's what you're there for," I replied in English.

"Perhaps later we can give you the cash, but we cannot give it to you now," came the response.

Uh huh.

So off we went through the store with a 400 TL "gift certificate" looking for ways to blow our money. We looked at DVD players again and settled on the cheapest one we could find. After all, if it couldn't play our DVDs, all we needed it for was the USB port, and we certainly weren't going to pay 200 TL for that.

I looked at coffee machines, a simple drip one for 70 TL, and picked it up. At least now we can make coffee for more than 2 people at a time. That's a plus.

But as hard as I tried, I could not find anything else to buy.

I returned to the register and presented the new DVD player and the coffee maker. "Okay, we can get these. And I'd like the rest of my money back now."

The girl frowned. The manager also frowned. "We still cannot give you the cash. It is not possible. Perhaps later we can give you the cash."

So I looked at computer accessories, laptop speakers, blenders, all kinds of wires and plugs and things that I didn't need. I just couldn't foresee blowing the money on crappy Chinese-made products that would likely break in a year.

Finally, I had had enough. I was tired, the store was incredibly hot and I was sweating and I was frustrated.

"That's it," I said to Jeff. "I'm done playing this stupid game. I don't want to buy more crap."

I strode towards the cash register and approached the lovely lady who had helped us before. I tried to keep my voice level and sane.

"Now, let me make something clear," I said. "You have been very helpful. You have been more than helpful. This is not your problem, it is the store's problem. Now, I do not want to buy any more crap. I do want to buy that DVD player and the coffee maker. But that's it. I want to get my cash back that I paid and I want to leave the store now."

The girl was sympathetic and tried everything in her power to accommodate me. But, as the manager pointed out, the machine -- that is, the store's computers -- would not process a cash refund. They simply wouldn't allow it.

I was beginning to hyperventilate. I was handed a glass of water and told to sit down. The next time I looked up Jeff was giving the manager a piece of his mind. I think some choice words were involved.

Suddenly the manager came up with an idea. Why don't we refund you the cash for the DVD player that you are going to buy and then give you the balance on a gift certificate?

HUH?

The manager, without ringing up the sale of the new DVD purchase, scanned the box into his system and within a couple of minutes, pulled some 110 TL (the cost of the DVD player) out of the register and handed it to me.

"Now," he said. "Now, you can purchase the DVD player and the coffee maker with your gift certificate."

I was, and still am, confused by this. I handed back the DVD player, the value of which I had just been handed in cash, and the lady behind the register rang it up, along with the coffee maker, and deducted the amount from our "gift certificate."

I still have about 110 TL left to spend at the Darty, and though I am absolutely loathe to go back, I have convinced myself that it is time for me to invest in a food processor or a blender of some sort.

I'm going to need it to make the daiquiris I will require after another trip to that store.

PS. If anyone knows how to hack a region 2 Next YE-9900 DVD player to a region free one, would you be so kind as to send me the instructions?

The Region's The Limit

"For all the ways technology has failed to improve the quality of life, please press three." -- Alice Kahn

The nearest electronics store to my house is a Teknosa, which you would think would be oh so convenient if you didn't know how I felt about Teknosa, that awful place where insult is added to injury because in addition to Turkey's horrendously high taxes on imported electronics, Teknosa then tacks on a hefty profit margin, making it the single most expensive place in Turkey to buy something simple like a DVD player or a blender.

And yes, I know I am spoiled, coming as I do from a country in which you can find a microwave at Target for $30 and a hair dryer for $20. I find it absolutely appalling when I walk into an electronics store here and see that a coffee maker -- a very simple drip coffee maker -- is priced at more than 150 TL ($100). Makes no sense to me.

So when our DVD player crapped out on us last month, my heart sank. I suspect that in the move to Izmir last August its delicate wires had been bumped around and it started to go haywire. As these things tend to happen, the DVD player broke just after the left speaker of our stereo system, which was a gift from a friend last year, also started to peter out.

Needless to say, we were not happy campers.

Eschewing the nearby Teknosa, we decided instead to try Darty, which is a short taxi ride away from our house. Settled amid concrete tower blocks and sprawling Carrefours and cinemas, Darty is housed in a single hideous building that is also home to a Koctas, a Burger King and a non-descript furniture store.

I went in with high hopes. We were hoping to find a DVD player and stereo system, an all-in-one surround sound system that would blow us away when we watched  "Dollhouse" and "Mercy" on TV.

Sadly, the store's offerings were slim. Darty didn't offer much in the way of stereo systems; there were, in fact, only two models and one didn't have a HDMI cable, which rendered it completely useless because that meant the system was not digital and required an analog TV. Who has an analog TV anymore?

Our other option was a Panasonic surround sound system with a DVD player, on sale for 400 TL. A bit pricey in my opinion, and I didn't know that we really needed six speakers, but what the hell? We'd certainly put it to good use.

Before buying it, I asked a sales rep where the ATM machine was. I always prefer to pay in cash in Turkey if I can -- as opposed to using a debt card -- because it's so much easier to handle if there's a problem later.

But lo and behold! There was in fact no ATM machine in the building! Or anywhere  nearby! I stared in minor shock at the sales rep. "What?" he said. "You can just pay with your card."

In the end that's what we did. I paid 100 TL in cash and then paid the rest -- 300 TL -- with my US debit card. As the cashier rang up my purchase, I gazed up at the wall behind the register and took in the large red sign with the store's guarantee. "If you find a lower price anywhere else, we'll refund the difference AND give you a box of chocolate," the sign read.

I paid easily -- the store was only too happy to take my US debit card, though sometimes the fact that it is associated with a credit union and not a bank causes me some problems.

We hauled the huge box home in a taxi, mixed a drink and set about putting the system together. (It amazes me that in 2010 we still need wires to do everything; I mean, seriously, can't things be wireless nowadays?)

When we put in our first DVD, a "Simpsons" disc from the US, the DVD player spun and spun before the screen turned bright blue and said in bold white letters: "REGION NOT FOUND."

My heart caught in my throat. Oh. My. God. You mean to tell me.....it's not region free? You mean, it will only play discs from Europe and not the US? How did we miss this? But on the box there is a picture of the globe and it says ALL, meaning all regions, right? RIGHT?

Sadly, no. What we had not realized when we bought the system was that the little symbol of a globe was actually Panasonic's worldwide guarantee, NOT a symbol that the DVD player could be used worldwide. Confusing, I know.

Without a region free DVD player, see, we cannot play our American movies. We can only play ones that we purchase here -- and seriously, when we do we ever purchase a DVD? That leaves a rather large chunk of our media off limits to us.

Our only alternative was to return the system, knowing full well that the Darty had nothing else like it and we would be right back where we started: with a broken DVD player and a half-hearted stereo system.

So back into a taxi we went, receipts in hand. Jeff fretted and moaned that we were simply not going to get our money back, that this was Turkey and they just didn't do that, receipt or no. They'll just give us store credit, he said, and there is absolutely nothing else that we need. I was more hopeful. Of course they will refund our money, I said, this is an international store following international standards and of course they will simply refund our money the way I paid it.

Little did I know how wrong I was.

Check back for part two of our story on Friday in which we discover that stores in Turkey don't necessarily subscribe to a "Satisfaction Guaranteed" customer service model.

Kaffeeklatsch, and The Brownies That Went With It

So remember last month when I returned home from pilates class one morning to find that a neighbor had invited me over for coffee? Except it wasn't just one neighbor, it was all the women in the building sitting in a well-appointed salon wearing nylons and heels? And I had rocked up still in my sweatpants thinking I could gracefully defer the offer for coffee and come back another time?

No? Well, you can read that story here.

Since then, I have joined the ladies in my building every other Friday for coffee and sweets, swapping my usual work attire -- which, because I work at home, consists of the above-mentioned sweatpants or pajamas -- for dressy pants and a blouse. I sit and listen, they sit and muhabbet sohbet (chit chat) while I try to keep up and say something useful every now and again.

Last Friday, it was my turn to host, an event I have been nervous about for over a month. I decided to make my Pumpkin Spice Bread, which was specifically requested after I had given some as a gift to a few neighbors.

But just in case someone didn't like the combination of nutmeg, cinnamon and cloves, I also decided to go for something chocolatey, so I turned to my need-dessert-in-a-hurry recipe: brownies.

These are the simplest brownies to make. All you have to do is combine this, stir that, plop it in the pan and bake. The ease of making them, though, belies the chewy and light wonderfulness that they become.

Walnut Brownies
Adapted from Hershey's

113 grams (1 cup) butter, melted and cooled
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 eggs
1/2 cup flour
1/3 cup cocoa
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup chopped walnuts

Heat oven to 350 F or 175 C. Butter a 9-inch (22 cm) square baking pan.

Stir together butter, sugar and vanilla in a bowl. Add eggs, beat well. Stir together the flour, cocoa, baking powder and salt in a separate bowl. Gradually add this dry mixture to the egg mixture, beating until well blended. Stir in chopped nuts. Spread batter evenly into prepared pan.

Bake about 20-25 minutes, or until the sides of the brownie begin to pull away from the pan. Cool completely on a wire rack. Makes about 9 big brownies or 16 small ones.

Afiyet olsun!

I apologize for only posting recipes with cup and teaspoon measurements. Next month we are going to the states and I plan to buy a scale so that I can actually measure out the weight of all these ingredients, which will make it so much easier to convert, for example, a cup of sugar into grams. Until then, you can use a Turkish water glass (which holds about 6-8 oz) as a cup and a cay spoon as a teaspoon.

10 Ways to Cope with Expat Life in Turkey

2010 dawned all new and bright and shiny a few weeks ago, and I am the first to admit that I'm getting a late start in getting my resolution off the ground. I mean, isn't this about when people give up their resolutions, not start them?

Oh well. It's not like I haven't been doing other things. Oh right. TV doesn't count.

My relationship with Turkey has started to get a bit more evolved, a bit more complicated, shall we say.

I've been here two and a half years and if I've only learned one thing is that an expat's response to life in a foreign country is completely fluid. One day you're thrilled about it, the next day you're ready to pack your bags and go anywhere else.

Expat life starts out well enough with the honeymoon stage and all that and then things start to get a bit murkier. All those differences you found so enchanting and even quaint in the beginning quickly become thorns in your side, the kind that make you throw your hands in the air and wonder why you came here in the first place.

From there, it's a slippery slope downhill to where you start fantasizing about life somewhere else, maybe even back in your home country, where of course life is simpler, easier, paperwork and bureaucracy a pure pleasure to deal with.

Don't kid yourself. It's the same everywhere, whether that's the UK, France, Hong Kong or Timbuktu. And yes, that includes Turkey.

But there are ways you can cope with it all, things that make it easier to deal with the daily struggles and everyday strife of being a foreigner in a strange land. And I'm not talking about big, life-altering changes, but little things that you can right now, today, to make your expat life just a little easier, things that I'm going to try to do more of when a bad day hits me.

Get on a bus and go. Remember what it's like to be a tourist in Turkey. Even if you're not so lucky as to live in Istanbul, there's bound to be stuff you haven't seen in your own city. Whip out your Lonely Planet and find a museum you haven't been to yet. Or, if you're more adventurous, head over to the bus terminal and get on a bus. Any bus. Just pick one going to a neighborhood you've never heard of before and explore. At the very least, you'll find a lovely cafe to have tea and sweets.

As my grandma would say, get outta town. No, really. Turkey is your oyster and with airfare so CHEAP in this country, there is no excuse not to get out. Why not Diyarbakir for a long weekend, or Antalya for some sea and sun? I'll never understand expats who spend all their time in Istanbul and never get out of the city. You may not stay in Turkey forever, so while you're here make sure to see it!

Go to a bakery and get one of everything. Where else can you eat chocolate pudding, eclairs, tiramisu, baklava and pistachio ice cream but in Turkey? (Okay, maybe lots of places, but we're looking on the bright side here!) Can't identify a particular item? Doesn't matter; just order it! Get a cup of tea and revel in the culinary delights that this country has to offer. Believe me, they're good.

Share your experiences. Start a blog, keep a diary, begin a scrapbook, take pictures. Sometimes the only way to put your life in perspective is to put it down on paper (or screen) and look at it. And I'm sure your friends and family back home would love to hear about your exciting life overseas!

Cook up some comfort food. Take a trip to your local pazar -- don't have one? the Carrefour will do -- and stock up on fresh produce and meats and cheese. Then go home and make something comforting like macaroni and cheese or ezogelin corbasi (which is, thank goodness, no longer the only thing I can cook) or chocolate chip cookies. Or try a twist on an old favorite by making Izmir kofte. Ask your mom for her enchilada recipe you love so much and get cracking!

Go out for a Western meal. I have such a hard time finding good food in restaurants here in Izmir. I could eat the most marvelous kofte until the cows come home, but do I want to? Hells no. Sometimes I want a slice of cheesecake or roasted turkey and for that, I turn to the city's five-star hotels like the Swiss Grand Efes Otel and the Crowne Plaza. It's okay to splurge once in a while.

Adjust your expectations. Not everything is going to work out the way you think it will or should. Filing paperwork at the emniyet will take longer than you expect, women WILL ram their carts into your ankles at the pazar and your internet connection will come and go as it pleases. But if you know that these things are a given, then why stress over them? It's not like you can do anything about it anyway.

Connect with fellow expats. Invite a few fellow expatriates over for the comfort food you're making, or go out to a meyhane and let loose. Sometimes it helps to commiserate with other people -- and in your own language -- and to know that you are not alone with whatever problem you're having in Turkey. Chances are, someone else has been through it all before and may even have some advice for you.

Adopt a pet. Come on, you didn't think I'd let this suggestion not make the list, did you? It's a proven fact that cats and dogs reduce stress levels and generally make people happier. I mean, how can coming home to a purring kitty NOT put a smile on your face? That said, if you're not planning on staying a while and wouldn't be willing to take an animal with you when you leave Turkey, you can always spend some time loving up the street kitties near your house, feeding them and taking care of them.

If all else fails, opt out for a long weekend. Who says you have to be fully engaged in Turkish life 24/7 anyway? There are times when you just need Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant, and maybe a big pile of chocolate chip cookies, to set you straight again. Or maybe your weakness is opera music while making tomato sauce. It doesn't matter: stock up on groceries, lock the door, turn up the music and escape.

I think the main thing when you need a pick-me-up if to remind yourself of why you came to Turkey in the first place. What helps me do that are the things above -- good friends, baked goods, marketing at the pazar (a real delight for me) -- and, yes, sometimes locking the door and eating a pan of mac and cheese.

Sometimes it's the only thing to do.

How to Buy a Turkish Carpet: Lesson 1

I stink at poker. I'm really, really bad at lying. I squeal when I see something I like, wrinkle my nose at something that smells bad and immediately start proclaiming my love for anything that tastes good.

I just can't help it. My tendency is to be as honest as possible, to say it straight, get it out there, let the world know how I feel.

This has led to several hilarious incidents that Jeff and I still laugh over, like the one time several years ago when I was working as a ballroom dance teacher and my colleagues and I went into a Ben & Jerry's in Philly to have ice cream.

Before I tell you the story, let me say this: I notoriously confuse the flavors Chunky Monkey -- a most disgusting combination of banana ice cream and fudge chunks and walnuts -- and Chubby Hubby -- glorious fudge-covered peanut butter-filled pretzels in vanilla ice cream with fudge and peanut butter. It is -- if you don't count Turkey Hill's Tin Roof Sundae -- The Best Ice Cream on The Planet.

What does this have to do with Turkish carpets? you ask. I'm getting there!

Anyway. So we go into the store and I order Chunky Monkey because I get confused. Don't they sound the same to you? They sound the same to me. I seriously think the people at Ben & Jerry's need to rethink this.

So the teenage girl behind the counter gives me a small cup of Chunky Monkey -- which, have I pointed this out?, is the most disgusting thing ever -- and I start going to town on this ice cream.

And I'm putting the first spoonful in my mouth and I realize, hey, wait a minute. Where's the peanut butter? There's fudge in here but there are no pretzels.

Then, is that a walnut? What the f*&k? It's banana!

Immediately, I start going apeshit.

"OH MY GOD. What IS this? This is disgusting. No seriously, it's gross."

My colleagues turn to look at me in horror. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my friend's husband back away from me.

"No seriously, you guys, I don't know what this is but it's disgusting. Like really gross. Ewwww...I can't even believe it. Are you sure this is Chunky Monkey, because it really doesn't taste like it."

The girl behind the counter asks me what I was expecting and when I tell her she says, "Oh, you wanted the Chubby Hubby."

"YES, that's it. Of course, Chubby Hubby. Isn't that what I said? What is this anyway? It's gross."

As if she didn't already know that.

So you can see how I am. It's not just with bad stuff too. It's with good stuff. I walk into a pazar (market), find something I absolutely love and think MUST HAVE THIS ITEM and immediately start squealing in delight. And then of course the price of said item goes up about 500%.

Now do you see what this has to do with carpets?

This happened right before Halloween when a friend of mine and I spent all day visiting those fake jewelry shops (a bijuteri in Turkish, I think) for a boa for my 1920s flapper costume. Don't ask -- long story. Anyway, the 12th -- 12th!! -- store we went into had one and I simply could not help myself. I squealed, I giggled in delight, I think I may have jumped up and down. My friend (Hi, Cherie!) stood by in horror. When I asked how for the price, the sales woman, whom my friend said exchanged a knowing glance with her colleague just a second earlier, said, "26 TL."

26 lira for a stinkin' boa. Needless to say, I didn't buy it.

Anyway. All of this is to say that Jeff and I are back in Diyarbakir today to visit our lovely friend Umit and I have big plans to buy a carpet. Or rather I have plans to buy a big carpet.

And I must, simply MUST keep a straight face when bargaining with the salesman. The minute your facial expression conveys any kind of pleasure or interest in something, not only do you risk only being shown items similar to it, you also jack up the price.

You see how this is very hard for me. I can't help but look at a carpet and go "OOOOO, PRETTY!!"

Last January when Jeff and I were in Diyarbakir and bought a few smaller carpets, Jeff played the straight man to my "OH MY GOD I LOVE IT" persona. Of course, having our friend Umit there, who speaks both Turkish and Kurdish, also helped a little bit. Okay, it helped a lot, which is why we haven't bought a carpet all year and have been waiting to go back to Diyarbakir so that Umit could help us again.

During all our negotiations, this is the facial expression Jeff tried to play to counter balance me:

It basically says "Yeah, I'm drinking your tea and I'm even semi-interested, but since I'm the one with the wallet, don't listen to my wife. And she sure as hell ain't buying the most expensive carpet in here."

Shopping with Umit was a real learning experience for me. I can drink the tea, I can muhabbet sohbet (chit chat) with the best of them, but I really need help in the negotiating department (see: how I bought my Birkenstocks). I'm really hoping that this weekend I can pick up some good tips.

Or at the very least, come home with an awesome carpet worthy of going "OH MY GOD I LOVE IT."

A Story in Which I am Invited to the Ladies Coffee Club

They were dressed impeccably, in black velvet pants and nylons and shiny patent leather high heels. Their hair was done up, curled just so and their lips painted in various shades of rose.

Immediately, I flushed. Having just come from Pilates class, I was wearing grey sweats and a purple t-shirt with a red cardigan over it. I was also wearing furry brown slippers. In no way was I prepared for whatever this was.

Hesitantly, I stepped into the salon, waving feebly. I sat down next to one of the women and looked around. Everyone was looking at me, smiling politely.

My neighbor brought me a coffee and I took it eagerly, grateful for something to do, something to look at other than my fuzzy slippers next to my neighbor's sparkly black pumps.

Just 10 minutes earlier I had arrived home from my early morning workout when Hanife Hanim, the cleaning woman, (yes, I debated and decided to hire one) told me that my neighbor across the hall had dropped by to invite me for coffee.

Really? I said. How interesting. I've only seen her a few times and I don't even know her name. How lovely of her to invite me over.

I had to start work soon, though, so decided to stop by and say thank you for the invitation but could we please have coffee another time?

I knocked hesitantly on my neighbor's door and prepared for what I would say. When she opened the door, I was greeted with a hearty "Hosgeldin!" and a heartwarming smile. She ushered me inside with a "gel, gel".

I had just opened my mouth to speak when she put her hand on my shoulder and extended an arm towards the salon. I turned to look and saw three of my female neighbors sitting there sipping coffee.

It turns out that I had just been invited to the bi-weekly coffee club for the housewives in my building. Unbeknownst to me, they meet every other week for coffee and sweets and gossip, switching houses each time. Yesterday was the first day that I was invited.

Over the next hour, we chatted about how to make homemade facial creams -- rose water keeps away crows feet, apparently -- and how much one woman's husband loves to sleep.

After some of this lovely chit chat, I poked my head into the kitchen to tell the host that I ought to be getting back to my computer.

She waved her hand away. Just have one slice of cake, she said.

Well, I really shouldn't -- wait, is that lemon? Well, I suppose a few more minutes wouldn't hurt...

This led to a spirited discussion of where to get the best slivered almonds in Izmir, an item of concern for me as I need to find slivered almonds for a French chocolate cake I plan on making this month.

Eventually, I did slip away, with promises to see them all again in two weeks at another neighbor's house. I came home and told Hanife Hanim about how I had really just planned to be gone for 2 minutes but...

Have you never been invited to one of these things? she asked.

No, I said. I have lived in Turkey for more than two years and I've never been invited. Of course, I've always been in an office during the day....

As she turned away, I asked if she and her friends did something similar.

No, she said. We're always working.

In the Spirit of the Season

I have decided that I am definitely celebrating Christmas this year.

I am putting up a tree (actually, that part is already done), am baking Christmas cookies, stringing lights, and singing yule tide carols till the cows, errr, reindeer come home. I'm even hosting a Christmas holiday party!

I have spent the last several Christmases somewhere other than with my family and this has made me sad and depressed every single year. Well, no more, I say! It's time for me to make Christmas my own, regardless of where I spend it, whether that's Philly, Kansas or Turkey.

Last year Jeff, in a noble attempt to stave off my annual holiday blues, bought us a cute little artificial tree about a meter tall along with a string of lights and some ornaments. We put up that tree just a few days ago.

Of course, Frankie wanted in on the action too.

 

I bet you're wondering how long exactly that tree stayed up there on the table with four cats in the house.

Not long at all. In fact, since putting it up, we've decided it's easier to leave the tree on the floor and only put it up on the table with the lights on when we're actually in the salon to enjoy it. Otherwise, I could spend all day picking that damn tree up and rearranging the lights and fallen ornaments.

 

Isn't it cute? The cat, I mean, not the tree. I think the tree needs a bit more work. Maybe another string of lights and some more ornaments. And definitely a star on top. That would make it more festive.

So, as I attempt to celebrate my own infidel version of Christmas, complete with homemade eggnog and a Victorian England-era party, I'll post here on how it goes. I've asked my mom and mother-in-law for some cookie recipes, many of which I've never made before even though I've spent my whole life eating them every December! To start us off, in a few days I'll post the most amazing -- and the easiest! -- sugar cookie recipe ever! (And you can do it all with local ingredients!)

What about you? Do you celebrate Christmas in Turkey? How do you do it?

Musings on Teaching Yourself

The life of an expat is many things. It is sometimes adventurous, oftentimes frustrating, more often than not quite exciting, and occasionally even glamorous.

But it can also be very lonely if you don't have a close circle of friends who have become your family.

This is the worst time of year for loneliness, right around the holidays. I am not necessarily hungry for turkey or stuffing or pumpkin pie this year -- although don't get me wrong, I would LOVE some right now -- but I am more hungry for time and knowledge, the kind that comes from interaction with people you love and spend time with on a regular basis.

Living abroad you learn many things about people, about life, and about yourself. But the one thing that I think I am truly missing out on right now is the kind of learning that you pick up during Sunday dinners with the family, the kind that is fluid and spontaneous and without form.

There is so much to learn from family, from close friends who have been there, done that. I told my stepmother more than once, for example, that if Jeff and I ever buy an apartment in Turkey, I want her to come for a few months and oversee the renovations. She's good at that kind of stuff, she knows how to lay tile the right way and can tell if the contractor is doing it wrong.

And my mother, she and my stepdad could write a book about how to tell authentic antiques from fake ones, and how best to refinish a dilapidated dresser, and which kind of rusted watch sold for $1 at a flea market will get you the big bucks on eBay. And sometimes I wish I could ask my dad about all the stuff he's got planted in the yard, what kind of flower grows best in the shade, how I can grow basil on my balcony.

So instead, I turn to the internet for nearly everything I need to know. And the internet....well, let's just say it's lacking in so many ways, especially when you're trying to learn how to cook, which I have been trying to do for a few months now.

In a piece I read today, of all days, in the New Yorker titled "What's the Recipe? Our hunger for cookbooks" by Adam Gopnik, he writes about how many cookbooks have turned into rote grammar books, whereby we don't actually learn how to cook but instead learn how to simply put together a recipe:

But is learning how to cook from a grammar book—item by item, and by rote—really learning how to cook? Doesn’t it miss the social context—the dialogue of generations, the commonality of the family recipe—that makes cooking something more than just assembling calories and nutrients? It’s as if someone had written a book called “How to Play Catch.” (“Open your glove so that it faces the person throwing you the ball. As the ball arrives, squeeze the glove shut.)

And that is EXACTLY what I have been doing. I do the same thing with food blogs (cookbooks are too expensive here) by finding ones I trust and like and go back to again and again when I want to make something. But by doing that, I'm really not learning how to actually cook anything.

My friend Chole is one of those people who can look at a recipe for chocolate chip cookies and judging by how many eggs there are or how much sugar it calls for can tell what kind of cookies you're going to get. When I told her last year that I wanted to make thick and chewy chocolate chip cookies but that every recipe I was trying produced flat ones, she found me a recipe that produced exactly what I was looking for. How? She knows that more brown sugar and egg yolk will produce thick and chewy cookies.

Now, I do all this stuff by trial and error which means that yesterday I boiled the lasagna noodles because the recipe I'm following says to EVEN THOUGH the box says NOT TO. But you must follow the recipe! Indeed! The recipe will show me the way!

I've got a kilo of pureed pumpkin in my freezer that I am terrified of using because I have no idea what to expect with any of the recipes I've found. Spicy Thai soup sure does sound great, but will it be so spicy that Jeff won't eat it? And what about all those pumpkin cupcake recipes -- which, first of all, would mean I'd have to buy a cupcake pan -- that call for cream cheese frosting? I don't know about those either.

I guess what I would rather do, what I feel I am really missing out on, is being able to call someone and say, hey, have you ever made pumpkin soup before? Come on over to my house and let's do it together. Oh, and bring an eggplant over, will you, because I have yet to learn how to broil one.

That'd be so much more fun than following a recipe off the internet.