Race Or Joke?

A few posts back, I wrote that I'd started running again and planned to run a race this month, hoping a public announcement will keep me accountable. Well, I am here to say that I followed through with a 10k (6.2 miles).

The intercontinental race had been newly formulated to include a 10k, in addition to the 8k (5 miles), 15k (9 miles), and 42k (26 miles). The 8k is a fun run, not timed; in other words, it's a walk. The course starts on the Asian side, where we live, and continues over the bridge to the European side, the only race course in the world to span two continents. The suspension bridge with its spectacular view of the strait is the biggest draw of the 8k participants and the race is the only time of the year that people are allowed to walk on the bridge. About 80,000 people were in the 8k and 20,000 in the 10, 15, 42k. The 8k started half hour after the others.

Side note: In a previous post, I said I tried to sign up for the 10k originally but it was full so I signed up for the 8k instead. A friend told me that the race is so lax that I could run the 10k anyway. No one would be checking my racing bib (different colors for each race). Sure enough, she was right. No one was checking so I was able to run the 10k.

The day was sunny and about 50 degrees so I had on running tights and running jacket (which I took off later, even though I was alternated between hot and cold throughout the race) over a short-sleeve shirt, anticipating cold winds at the bridge. I arrived with four friends and got separated from them in the crush. It was chaotic, to the say the least. After searching high and low for them and dealing with the disappointment at the prospect of running without a friend, I lined up for the 10k, praying that I would find my friends along the race. The 15k and 42k participants were lined up ahead, closer to the bridge, while the 10k was higher up the hill so I could see down the hill and watched the huge mass spill over the starting line and up the bridge. After that group was mostly gone, we started 20 minutes later.

To say the race was enormous and therefore a madhouse is to make an understatement. While there were many competitive runners in the 10k, there were also a great deal of walkers. And bystanders. I dodged and weaved around the walkers leading up to the bridge but as soon as I arrived on the bridge, I began to see people at a standstill in groups....in the middle of the course. Like I said, people just wanted to be on the bridge. They were taking photos of themselves with the view behind them, chatting with one another. People were walking in all directions, even towards the starting line. I encountered people walking shoulder to shoulder in a line across the course with no way for anyone to run past. I spied a small opening and gently shoved a man aside so I could run past. It was just chaos and I was aghast. I was told to expect this but it still didn't stop the surprise and subsequent rise of irritation in me. I kept thinking, this race is a joke, I'll never do this again.

Once I got across the bridge, the chaos lessened and thinned out. People remained on the bridge and mostly runners now surrounded me, although many walked later on in the race so I continued to dodge and weave. I was happy to get off the bridge. I was expecting to enjoy running across the bridge but it wasn't exhilarating in itself. It didn't strike me as surreal to be crossing from one continent to another on foot. I was simply running a race, with some glimpses of the same view I've seen many times from the comfort of a car.

The course wound from the bridge, uphill on the highway, down an off-ramp and then up another hill. I ran halfway up this hill (the third, the steepest, on the course so I was already feeling the hills) and losing my breath, I stopped to walk for about a minute. I spied the top of the hill which inspired me to run the rest of the way up and as I did so, I approached a redheaded woman from behind who was walking, fatigued. I thought I recognized her but I ran a bit past her to see her face for confirmation, said hi, and began to drag her along. She's a friend of mine, also a co-worker who lives in another city, who had come to my city for the race. I didn't know this but she had a goal to finish the 10k in 1:15:00 and apparently, as she told me later, my dragging her along and running together helped her to achieve her goal. We ran together at the same pace (slow) and finished together in 1:13:00. Except for a one-minute walk up a hill, I was happy that I ran the entire race, even though I wanted to stop and walk so many times but having a running buddy kept me motivated. I was especially happy to have a buddy to run with - the Father had answered my prayers with this girl, not the friends that I arrived with.

Beside the bridge fiasco, I had fun running the race :-). Races are fun with the energy and excitement and crossing the finish line is exhilarating. No one was there to cheer me at the finishing line but maybe next time G and the girls can be there.

(pictures from the Internet):

The 8k - thank goodness I wasn't running in that

Bridge - facing European side

I'm pretty sore right now. I'd fallen behind on my training schedule, sidelined with a stomach bug for a week and subsequent 2-mile rut with leaden legs for a week or two. I broke out of the rut by changing my route a week before the race and jumped from 2 miles to 4 miles, which was just two days prior to the race. The 2-mile jump to 6 miles on race day put a strain on my ITB (illiotibial band), my old nemesis, so I had some pain afterward. I've been working on my ITB so I don't think I have an injury. I guess the 4-mile increase in 1.5 week (from 2 to 6) is enough to bother a less experienced runner like me and I was probably unwise to run the 10k but I was stubborn :-)

Maybe next time, I can work on my speed and run a 10k in 60 minutes.

A Wedding

I have to say that we were surprised by how weddings are done here. Here's what happened:

First, we received an invitation. It had the usual information: who, what, where, and when. The location was a wedding salon as it is called here. When we arrived at the wedding salon, I was surprised to see several brides and grooms coming and going. It wasn't until we went through the ceremony that we realized why. The wedding salon is a government building devoted to weddings. This particular building has several salons so each bride and groom is assigned a salon by appointment. So, all the salons are being used at the same time -- in other words, there are several brides in the building at the same time, coming and going all day long. I said several because the civil ceremony itself is quite short, about 15 minutes long. So a salon is up and ready to go for the next couple when one ceremony is over and all the guests have filed out.

One part of me was fascinated because I got to see brides coming and going in their wedding splendor in a variety of styles. That's just fun! Another part of me was aghast because…well, I'm an American who grew up in a culture that the bride (and groom) is the center of attention for one day and for another bride to show up would be a horror. Here, it's normal for brides to see other brides on their wedding day and they don't have the sense of entitlement that they must be the only bride present and all attention must be on them alone. 

Just arrived

Before entering the building

Notice the lack of traditional garb? The civil ceremony is very Western in dress and ceremony.

The bride and groom disappeared into the building and the guests went to the assigned salon (as indicated on the invitation) and sat in the stadium seats, facing a platform in the front. The bride and groom were announced and they appeared from the center of the platform and sat down at the table. In the picture below, you can see the entrance behind them which they appeared from.

Then the marriage official showed up (in red gown on the right), there was a bit of dialogue and laughter. Two witnesses were present at the table to the left, some friends of theirs, I guess. I think there were some vows said. The marriage certificate was handed to them and they signed. The witnesses signed. That was it. The wedding ceremony was done. From the time they sat down until they were pronounced married was probably only 15 minutes. Very civil, indeed.

Signing the marriage certificate

Married!

Then people from outside in the hallway began filing in to grab seats for the next ceremony while we all filed out. The wedding couple stood in the hallway while we got in line to shake hands and congratulate them. You can pin money or gold coins to their clothes or stick the money in her cute little satchel on her wrist.

Their families couldn't afford much so no reception was given (if a reception is given, I believe they are similar to Western wedding receptions - food, music, dancing). The couple went out to dinner with some of their friends to celebrate at a restaurant. We went home. Short and simple, huh?

After having seen a civil ceremony, I was curious as to whether a religious ceremony is normally held. I wasn't expecting one with this couple who are pretty secular but I was wondering what a religious ceremony looked like. I couldn't find much on the Internet but it seems that when the Ottoman Empire disintegrated and the republic of TKY was founded in 1923, a law was passed that religious marriage ceremonies were not recognized by the government. The law immediately created millions of illegitimate children. People began to have civil marriages in order to protect themselves and their children and receive the benefits of the law (inheritance, etc). I think the religious ceremony fell to the wayside but as far as I can tell, the religious ceremony is not much different from ours in America - the bride and groom are present, an imam may have them repeat vows and maybe deliver a short sermon, and witnesses for both sides must be present.

As to any sort of cultural traditions in a ceremony, it probably varies from country to country. In America, we have the song, unity candle, bridesmaids, groomsmen, flower girl, ring bearer, etc. I'm not sure what they do here but the only thing I know is that in the rural areas, the wedding party hires a man to beat a drum and follow them about. I think that the groom's family show up at the bride's family home (while the drummer is outside continuing to beat away) to escort the bride to the groom's home where the religious ceremony is held and a feast after. When we were visiting out east (rural), we listened to a drum beat all day and all night. I watched a car full of dressed up people show up at our building and escort the bride out and go somewhere close because we could still hear the drum. It doesn't play a nice beat or anything; it's just a monotonous boom-boom-boom.

There you have it. I think the henna night is supposed to be the most important ritual (as explained in a previous post) and the marriage itself is just a social contract.

Henna Night

My language teacher's niece (hearing) recently got married. My teacher invited me, knowing I was curious about the culture and traditions here. I am thankful that I got to observe.

Here, a couple days before the wedding, the women have what is called "henna night." It is ceremony in which the family of the bride give her away to the family of the groom. It is an ancient ritual (some say it dates back to prophet Muhammed), celebrated in the Middle East, North Africa, and India. From what I understand, the ritual had fallen out of favor after the founding of TKY in 1923, returned in recent years, and evolved quite a bit in the large cities (where the wealthier, secular urbanites had originally viewed the ritual as archaic and backwards) while the rural class never stopped holding the ritual, especially in the traditional way. So, the henna night that I saw was probably not very close to the traditional henna night from centuries past. From what I have read, the traditional henna night is heavy with symbolism and religious meaning.

On with the story.

I showed up on a Thursday night at the bride's mother home. I think henna night party is normally held in a rented salon (or what we would call a reception hall or ballroom) if you can afford it. After socializing and dancing, the bride went and changed into a traditional costume in another room with red veil over her head. Her outfit consisted of a blouse, long coat, and pantaloons type of pants that gathered at the ankle cuffs. Her shoes were the traditional slippers with toes that curled up to a point (very classic Middle Eastern). Her clothes were maroon with ornate gold embroidery and her veil was a bright red.

The lights were turned out and some ladies filed in with a square of sequined cloth in one hand and a candle in another. One of the ladies held a tray with four candles and a tray of henna paste. The bride came in, sat in a chair, and the ladies holding the candles walked in a circle around her. They are supposed to be unmarried so I assume they were. The tray with the henna was held over the bride's head for the duration. I can't remember if they were singing or if there was simply music. After the music or singing was done, everyone in the room began to sing a song, which to my ears sounded sad even though I didn't know the words. Later, I looked up the translation of the song:

"They shouldn't build homes on the high hills
They shouldn't give girls to faraway cities
They shouldn't upset the mother's one and only

May the birds carry the message
I miss my mother
Both my mother and father
I miss my village

I wish my father had a horse, he could jump on it and come
I wish my mother had a sail, she could open it and come
I wish my siblings knew the way, they could come

May the birds carry the message
I miss my mother
Both my mother and father
I miss my village"

Circling the bride

Tray over bride's head

At this point, the bride is supposed to cry. The mother cries, too. Later, when the lights were turned on, I noticed many other women crying. Anyway, during this song, the mother-in-law (in this case, the mother-in-law had passed away some years earlier so it was another relative) came to the bride while the other ladies continued to circle around. The mother-in-law is supposed to try and apply henna to the bride's hand (more on the henna in a moment) and the bride is supposed to refuse to open her hand. Then the mother-in-law puts a gold coin (more on the symbolism in a moment) and then applies henna. She closes the bride's hand and puts a scarf around both hands or gloves.

Coin in the bride's hand and applying henna 

Putting on gloves

Then after this was done, the lights were turned on, the bride began to kiss and hug everyone, starting with her teary mother. Those who were older and deserved honor, she held their hand and tapped the back of their hand on her chin and then her forehead (it's a sign of respect for elders).

Traditional garb with red veil 

The bride

 Refreshments and snacks were passed around and all the guests received henna in their palm.

Henna - it left an orange stain on my hand for nearly two weeks.

The symbolism of henna seems to be varied. From the research I've done, it is rooted in an old myth that henna started back in the days of the prophet Muhammed when he would put henna in the palms of his soldiers just before battle, to represent blood and sacrifice. There are other interpretations of henna. I have an excerpt from a research article and it's long so feel free to skip it. The excerpt also explains why the bride is expected to initially reject the mother-in-law's application of henna until she receives a gold coin.

"The dominant symbol in this traditional henna-night is the henna. It not only serves as a "means to the fulfillment of the avowed purposes" of the ritual, "but also more importantly refer values that are regarded as ends in themselves" (Turner 1967: 20). Both the attendees of the traditional and the new henna-nights comment that the red henna stands for blood. Some provide a further interpretation that blood implies the transformation of the bride from girlhood to womanhood. This interpretation voices a very strict traditional and religious norm, which defines the woman’s body as an object belonging to the husband. It dictates that females can transform from girlhood to womanhood only through marriage and that premarital sexual intercourse is not only forbidden, but also unquestionable. With this rite-of-passage the adult women are symbolically re-establishing a religious and traditional norm, which is considered by the conservatives as one of the basic principles that holds the Turkish society together. Through the female social solidarity in this women-only ritual, the traditional henna-night reproduces patriarchal relations, reifying their collective acceptance of male domination.

Other than explaining henna as the blood of the virgin, we can also interpret it as the blood of the warrior. Blood of the warrior refers to struggle, resoluteness, and sacrifice. As mentioned above, after the bride’s palms are colored, the attendees of the ritual, like the soldiers of the prophet, also color their palms with henna, establishing the collective understanding of marriage as a struggle in which the woman is responsible for its survival and "success" (i.e., keeping the family together and raising honest, moral and respectful children). Many folk poems and sayings convey the sacredness of blood. Blood implies dedication, honor and pride, and indicates the presence of sacred values to which people can devote their lives. Within this framework, the use of henna grants sacred properties to the institution of marriage. Unlike modern conceptions of marriage, it does not imply sacredness in terms of an intimate bond between man and woman. Rather marriage becomes an entity for raising children and an institution in which the honor of women (but not of men) is constructed. The woman is assigned the responsibility to make the necessary compromises to ensure the continuity of the family. Through coloring only the woman’s palms, she (but not her husband) is symbolically accepting this responsibility to sacrifice for her family. However, via the symbol of the mother-in-law putting a gold coin into the palm of the bride, some kind of responsibility is assigned to the groom’s family, if not to the groom directly. When the bride initially rejects the mother-in-law’s offer of henna, she symbolically is asking for a commitment from the groom’s family. Putting a gold coin in her palm, the mother-in-law is symbolically communicating their acceptance of the responsibility to provide financial security for the new family. But, with the responsibility comes power. The bride belongs to the groom’s family. The henna night establishes the authority of the groom’s parents, as well as the groom himself, over the bride." (source)

Quite interesting.

After henna night, G and I went to the wedding ceremony which I will share about in the next post.

A Brilliant Bird

Living in a busy, crowded city like mine, you don't expect to see any wildlife. Well, the city isn't completely devoid of wildlife. Besides stray cats and dogs (there are no squirrels here), there are birds.

The birds we see all the time are pigeons, crows (they are gray with a black head and neck, as if wearing an executioner's hood), a couple of different types of seagulls, terns, and little brown, nondescript birds (larks, maybe?). There isn't a big variety and definitely not a colorful variety. There are no cardinals, blue jays, woodpeckers, etc.

Besides seagulls and terns, there is a kind of black bird that swims half submerged and dives for fish from the surface. Its bill almost look like a duck's. They never fly inland as the seagulls do. I don't know what they are but I've seen birds similar to them in the marshes of Florida. 

One day recently, I was down by the water, a quieter part of the shoreline. In the corner of my eye, I noticed a movement and turned my head to catch a bird flying away from me. I saw a warm brown head with a bright turquoise back before he disappeared from my sight. After seeing birds in the white, brown, black, gray colors for two years, I was intrigued by the lovely turquoise. I thought about the bird often and decided to try googling it. To my surprise, I was able to identify it:

Source: Wikipedia

Source: Wikipeida

It is a white-throated kingfisher. Isn't it lovely? I was pretty stoked because kingfishers are some of my favorite birds in Florida. Near my hometown, there is a narrow beach of soft sand called Mashes Sands that lies between a shallow bay and saltwater marshes. You could wade out in the bay for a hundred yards or more and the water will barely reach above your thighs. There is a creek that flows out from the marshes into the bay. This complex, delicate ecosystem of marsh and bay is home to a great variety of animals from birds to crabs to fishes, and even small sharks. The saltwater is probably more brackish than true blue saltwater. Here, I used to watch the kingfishers beat their wings, hovering high in the air above the marshes for several minutes, with their heads pointed straight down and then suddenly dive-bomb into the water to catch their prey. I was always amazed at how long they kept this fixed position in the air, hardly wavering from it. I have to admit that the kingfishers of Mashes Sands don't have anything on these beautiful white-throated kingfishers with the brilliant blue/turquoise wings and tails.

Well, I'm getting homesick writing about Mashes Sands. The next post should contain a description of a cultural tradition that I got to experience recently. Stay tuned.

Running

I've started running again. It'd been two years since I stopped running. I gave it up for two reasons. I had chronic ITB band syndrome that was caused by uneven leg lengths, according to my orthopedic doctor. ITB band syndrome is difficult to recover from. There wasn't much I could do about my uneven leg lengths and it seemed that I would always have ITB band syndrome. I kept running off and on but found some relief on the treadmill at the local Y. Secondly, we moved overseas and running fell low on my priority list. When I got pregnant, I pretty much gave up the idea right then. After that, I worked out to DVDs in my living room or went for long walks until I got too pregnant, fat, and tired.

When D turned 5 months, I finally began exercising again, alternating between DVDs and CrossFit-style workouts. Some months later, I was trying to work out and the girls were crying, wanting to join in and get tangled up in my workouts, climbing on me as I was doing mountain climbers, G was frustrated trying to keep them away while I used the living room space. I said, "Gah! I've gotta get out of here!" I went for a run. Oh, how I missed running! The escape, the freedom, the time to myself, the rush of endorphins afterward.

I starting running this summer but I was kind of unfocused and unsure what to do. I really wanted to learn how to run smart and prevent injury. I started researching madly, wondering if my leg length discrepancy was really the death knell for running. I am addicted to researching and information and it really does come into handy because I learned through my research that it is possible to run injury-free. I could run without pain in my hips and knee. No more piriformis syndrome (another injury I suffered, notably during my half-marthon in Warsaw, Poland) and ITB syndrome.

I have on my computer a training schedule, customized to my history of injuries and level of experience by a certified running coach with 14 years of experience. Since I'm starting from scratch after a two-year hiatus, I'm a beginning runner. The schedule includes core strength workouts, ITB band rehab exercises (to prevent the syndrome), glute exercises (weak hip muscles can cause ITB band syndrome), hip openers, and tennis ball work. The schedule is about preventing injury but the coach built in exercises during my runs to build speed and endurance safely, on top of increasing mileage so I appreciate that. It's only been about three weeks on this training schedule and so far, so good.

Running is not my favorite topic to blog about but the reason I decided to blog about it is for a measure of accountability. I enjoy seeing progress in my running and the incremental improvements are really addicting and encouraging. Having goals will facilitate that even more. My goal is to run some races and there is an 8k (a hair under 5 miles) race next month. The race is also a marathon, 15k, and 10k. I tried to sign up for the 10k but the registration was full but the 8k was available. It's a fun run, meaning it's not timed. The unique thing about this race is that it's the only race in the world that spans two continents, starting on the Asian side and over a bridge to the European side. How cool is that? It's definitely a bucket list item so the 8k is a good start.

My next goal is to run a 10k and I am scouring for other races in the spring but I am not finding anything that isn't a trail race, which I have zero experience in...unless you count my wild hoyden childhood days running around barefoot on dirt roads and in the woods. I may have to wait until we go stateside to run a 10k.

My next big goal is to run a half-marathon next fall after we come stateside. I should be able to find one easily in North Carolina or Virginia.

Now that I've told you what my goals are, I will start to feel accountable, thinking that you guys are checking on me, even though you may actually forget this post within minutes of reading this and won't actually be checking on me but my imagination will do the rest and that should give some motivation to achieve my goals.

Okay, half-marathon next fall or bust!

Signs You've Been Here Too Long

I happened to stumble onto an article written by a Spanish expat living (or lived) here in IST. It's 50 signs you've been in my country too long. I didn't identify with some of the items on his list (mostly has to do with partying, alcohol, or food I can't eat), especially one item that says you're thinking about growing a mustache. I can't grow one but I can see why he said that; so many men here wear mustaches. Anyway, I deleted what doesn't apply to me so the list was pared down to 36 signs.

1. You automatically take off your shoes when entering a house.

2. Friends don’t invite you to their homes for dinner, but for breakfast.

3. You know the name of the guy at the bakkal (corner store) on your street.

4. Everything is çok (very): çok güzel, çok iyi, çok ayıp...

5. You have started to answer questions by repeating the answer (evet, evet; var, var; hayır, hayır; yok, yok).

6. You’ve forgotten what it means to recycle.

7. You no longer hear the honking of car horns.

8. You know there is always traffic in Istanbul: the question is whether there is traffic or A LOT of traffic.

9. You know you’ll find a portrait of Atatürk everywhere you go.

10. You have learned to accept yogurt as something salty you drink with your food rather than something sweet you eat for dessert.

11. You hardly hear it anymore when the mosques issue the call to prayer. Five times a day. Starting at 05.30.

12. You have drunk çay when it’s 35 degrees Celsius outside.

13. You know the only way to cross the street is kamikaze-style, with the cars passing just a few centimetres away. Traffic lights? What are those?

14. You know the first rule about Atatürk is: you do not say anything bad about Atatürk.

15. And the second rule about Atatürk is: you do not say anything bad about Atatürk.

16. You ask for a student discount or try to bargain for almost everything.

17. Remember when you used to notice how there was always a joker jumping the queue without anyone complaining? Now you’re that joker.

18. You’re still looking for the cheapest kebab in the city.

19. You do not say "ok"; you say "tamam."

20. You kiss both cheeks with your close friends.

21. It doesn’t surprise you anymore to see two macho guys walking together with linked arms.

22. The entrance to your house looks like a shoe store.

23. You have accepted olives and cheese as part of your breakfast.

24. You have accepted that there will always be soup and yogurt with your food.

25. You have accepted yogurt as a sauce.

26. You think it’s normal to "drink a cigarette," "close the phone" or having it be "raining snow."

27. You call older neighbours "aunt" and "uncle."

28. You don’t get surprised when some people still give prices in millions of liras.

29. You now expect to get a wet-wipe soaked in lemon scent at the end of a restaurant meal (and sometimes will take extra to stick in your bag for the kids -- added by Diana)

30. When you need groceries, you call the shop on the corner and have them sent up to you in a basket.

31. You know that kahvaltı means "under or after the coffee" – and that there is never coffee after breakfast.

32. You know you’ll always find the sugar served in cubes

33. You’ve stopped expecting sauce in your döner kebab and know it is normal to find French fries in it instead (I expect it in Greg's durums) 

34. You only go to the historic part of the city when your friends visit you.

35. You think it’s normal for motorcyclists to ride in the wrong direction, without a helmet, and sometimes on the sidewalk.

36. You know every building has a name of a person on it, and usually two numbers: the old one and the new one.

I would add a few more:

37. You now know all the hand gestures and head movements and eyebrow raises; they are surprisingly numerous, intricate, and subtle.

38. You think nothing of taking several modes of transportation in one trip in the city, which includes a taxi, ferry, metro, bus, minibus, metrobus, dolmus, and tram.

39. You shop at pazars which are the cheapest places to buy produce.

40. You hardly notice the profuse attention and gifts lavished on your children.

41. You drive and lay on the horn like a native.

42. You don't notice the metal detectors and lack of trashcans at the malls anymore, and because of the lack of trashcans, you're accustomed to leaving your mess on the table in the food court.

What Happened to August?

What a blur.

August was a blur. After my last post, we celebrated DB's birthday, found out G's grandfather had passed away after a summer-long decline, then celebrated my birthday, and a week later, G left for the States for 10 days to celebrate the exemplary character and life of his grandfather. Two days after G returned, our supervisors came to stay for about 6 days. We filled the days with meetings and training. After our supervisors left, the following week was chaotic with my ear infection (which can make you feel ill!), A's illness, doctor appointments for the girls and myself, preschool issues, babysitter search, numerous things cropping up, etc. We're now going into the second week of September and I can finally say that we will start settling back into routine.

Whew.

While G was gone, I got sick with the worst allergy attacks I've had in years. As a general rule, I don't really have respiratory allergies. I tend to have attacks when there is a sudden change in allergens. For instance, I once flew to an area of the United States that was in high pollen season and as soon as I landed, my immune system went nuts and I had a bad allergy attack. I was inhaling pollen that we didn't have in Florida and my body was not accustomed to it. In this case, I blame my allergy attacks on the Lodos. It's a wind that blows from Africa, carrying minerals and dust. We have had our windows open all summer long to the breezes and the obligatory dirt blow in and cover everything. I had no problem with allergies. I started to get the sniffles shortly before G left and the attacks became progressively worse and I fell really ill. I noticed that there was an unusual amount of dirt covering surfaces in my house. My black glass stovetop would be covered with a thick layer within an hour of wiping it clean. DB's hands and knees were blacker than usual. I have no idea if the Lodos was blowing while G was gone so maybe it wasn't the Lodos but a just crazy amount of dirt in the air. The locals often blame respiratory illnesses on the Lodos so maybe I'm just acting like a local...

While G was gone, I learned that a cranky, hot, sick, tired mama does not a patient mama make. I know that logically but what I am trying to say that I have learned my limits. I yelled at my girls more than once (cringe). As I spent sleepless night after sleepless night from nasal congestion and waking up to sneeze and blow my nose, I decided to give myself a break for the sake of the girls. I turned on the AC more than usual so that reduced some of my crankiness. I took a couple of days off from language and concentrated on resting as my allergies slowly subsided under the onslaught of Claritin. Instead of the usual 15-minute walk to school to pick up A, I drove the car because walking in the heat exhausted my already-taxed body too quickly and A was melting down more than usual on the walk home, and the two combining conditions made my patience disintegrate within seconds. I got help from local American friends who paid a bill for me, spent an afternoon chatting with me, met with me for coffee (in very strong winds, I might add -- it was the Lodos!) so I wouldn't go crazy being cooped up, and hosted me and the girls for dinner once. I watched a lot of movies at night.

It's sad because I'd started off really well during G's absence before spiraling down into the dark void of allergies - I was accomplishing language tasks, keeping the house picked up (not necessarily clean), doing reasonably well in feeding the girls cooked meals (which was easy with the crockpot and the leftovers stretched two or three days so I didn't cook as often), keeping up the laundry, etc. All that was short-lived....it's the Lodos, I tell you!

Needless to say, the girls survived. They were overjoyed to see their daddy and so was I. I learned a lesson about parenting alone while sick: cut yourself some slack, for goodness's sake. Although I am still suffering slight attacks of sneezing now and then and my subsequent ear infection have healed, I no longer feel ill and my energy and mental clarity have returned. The weather is lovely now that the heat has subsided and the temperatures are in the mid-70's. The cool fall weather does wonders for the disposition; I feel like a new person.

And now, to get back into routine....

(which is a joke between G and I because our life is not normal and a routine is nearly impossible).

Produce Trees

One of the surprising things about this super urban city is the amount of fruit trees and berry bushes everywhere. There may not be a lot of green grass but there are tiny strips of land around apartment buildings and whatnot (in my area). On those strips of land, fruit trees grow. In the summer, you can see fig trees, apricot trees, plum trees, and orange trees. Today, I saw what looks like a blackberry bush.

You could essentially live off the land here.

Just sharing an observation, that's all.

Organizing

Ever since I returned from vacation about three weeks ago, I've noticed a surge of motivation, energy, alertness. Prior to vacation, I was in a fog, as I mentioned in a post, from being so tired, stressed, and too busy. My thinking processes slowed down to the rate of molasses and I was constantly forgetful (putting things in the wrong places, turning off lights in a room forgetting that someone was still occupying it, etc). Vacation helped and what's also helping is that I've weaned DB to two feedings a day. My body is becoming less taxed after nearly two years of growing a human being and then sustaining said human being with food. I remember the same surge of energy after I weaned A.

So, when I realized that a vacation week of making only two decisions daily (what to eat and whether to swim in the pool or sea) subsequently lifted the brain fog, I needed to simplify my life more. I can't eliminate much but I can super-organize it, as far as I am able with the unpredictable nature of my job and expat life that defies organization.

Now, I've never had to be a super-organized nerd - and I say "nerd" affectionately because I think all nerds are wonderful - because I didn't juggle so many things like I do currently. It doesn't mean I was less busy before but I was able to stay on top of things without needing an organizational tool or a calendar. I don't really have great organization skills.

To learn some organizational skills, I went to ol' reliable Google and stumbled on the concept of homemaking binder. A homemaking binder is simply a central place to keep everything in order to keep your home running (and whatever else you need to keep running). You keep everything you need in it and you can put in anything you want: contact list, birthday/anniversary list, daily/weekly/monthly planner, task list, cleaning schedule, meal planner/recipe lists/inventories, anything related to kids like school, activities, etc, home maintenance reminders, budget/financial planner, auto maintenance log, etc. You can find many printables on the Internet for free that you can print and fill out for your use -- and they're pretty printables, too :-) It's whatever you want the binder to be but the point is that everything is organized, listed, and put in one central place.

A central place seemed like a good idea, especially since I have no desk. I'm terrible because I keep the calendar on my computer and phone (which syncs with G's calendar so we can see each other's schedule and not double-book ourselves), the grocery list on the whiteboard in the kitchen, the meal planner is usually written down on a piece of paper or on the whiteboard, various stuff on my computer, and I write to-do lists in a notebook which I also jot down ideas and thoughts so the notebook itself is disorganized. The notebook is never in the same place and it migrates from the bedroom to living room to kitchen and back to living room.

So, I've started a binder and it's still a work in progress. My binder isn't just a homemaking binder; it's also a language and work binder. It will help me tremendously to use my time efficiently when I am focusing on language study with its various tasks and projects which are simultaneous so that's a lot of balls to juggle in the air. I can also schedule activities for the girls by keeping it all in the binder. I can also write down work-related tasks (not language) in one category, instead of intermixing the tasks with other tasks on one list so the list is just long and jumbled and not prioritized. Anyway, I could go on and on.

Even though my binder is still a work in progress, I already feel less stressed. I am finally adjusting to the hectic, unpredictable expat life, balancing work and family, and adjusting to the strange nature of my job that isn't like any 9-to-5 job in the States. I won't say that I've arrived but I am getting there.

Cheers!

Am I Cut Out For Motherhood?

As I went through college, I had many plans in my ambitious heart. I was going to have a career and make X amount of money, driven by a quest for security. Marriage was definitely in the plans and as for having children, I was absolutely devoid of any feelings about it. I didn't really see myself as a mother and, to be honest, I didn't have a great respect for motherhood. I suspect, looking back, I was influenced by rampant feminism which exalts career over motherhood. Be a homemaker who stays home with her kids? Not me.

Then, I became a believer just before my last year of college. My ambitions and fierce need for a hefty savings account to protect me from all the trials of the world slowly disappeared. I learned to put my self-worth and my security in the Son. The desire for marriage and the lack of maternal urge remained. 

Since the Son changed the many plans in my heart, I didn't get a career that I envisioned. It wasn't because the choice was taken from me. Instead, I pursued the Son's calling on my life clear across the Atlantic Ocean to another country for two years without a single regret about the direction my life was taking. Then, I got married. I still had no urge to have kids but I wasn't opposed to them either. Motherhood seemed like such a thankless task. Almost uncool. I wasn't really suited for homemaking and motherhood because my gifts and skills lie elsewhere. 

I actually chose and pursued motherhood with heartfelt prayers because a loss of a precious baby, who the Father planted in my heart to my surprise. My priorities and the many plans in my heart changed. After discovering that our baby no longer lived, I suddenly understood the value of a child and how motherhood was a noble calling. The loss changed me irrevocably. 

With one baby in heaven, the Father has blessed us with two girls. Am I cut out for domesticity and motherhood now? Of course not. As I pointed out above, my gifts and skills lie elsewhere.  My skills and gifts are not in hospitality, organizing, decorating, baking, teaching at a preschool level, making cool crafts with the kids, and things pertaining to homemaking and motherhood. I stumble through each day making mistakes and struggle with feelings of inadequacy often.

As I said, motherhood is a calling. If I have learned anything in my life about the numerous callings the Father placed on me, I was never equipped in the first place and the Father never abandoned me to obey His calling on my own. He always equips and brings about fruit. One doesn't have to have amazing parenting and homemaking skills to be a mother; the most important part is the grace the Father extends to a mother. The grace is bottomless and always sufficient. If my kids turn out to follow the Son with all their hearts, it will be because of His grace, not my skills or the lack of. 

If anything, the feelings of inadequacy are the perfect sign that I am where I am supposed to be....completely reliant on His grace. That's the way to go. 

PS: If you can't follow my thread of reasoning here, it's because I wrote this at midnight and I ought to be in bed.

Summer Time, Fourth of July, and Vacation

This summer has been really nice and cool so far. This morning, it's about 75 degrees outside with cool breezes running through the house. The temperatures climb into the mid-80s and it's still humid, as evident by the hair around my face curling into waves (not pretty ones). Our building heats up by the end of the day and if the breezes aren't blowing in the right direction, our apartment will get too still and warm. I would feel sorry for the girls when they play and their hair get plastered to their skulls with sweat. They spend their days in underwear and diaper, respectively. By 6:00, it's hot enough that we'll turn on the klima so the girls (and us adults) can cool down and get comfortable for bed. Some days, the building will heat up in the relentless sun and it's too warm to cook. Nevertheless, this summer has not been as hot as last summer. It was downright miserable then and I was in my last weeks of pregnancy on top of that.

With the breezes comes the dust. Our house is covered with a layer of dust. The soles of my feet are always dirty from walking around barefoot. Poor baby D, her knees and top of her feet are black from crawling around. It necessitates a new step to departing the house - wipe down her knees and feet so she'd be presentable to the outside world.

Another thing about summer is the summer produce. It's always so lovely to eat all summer long - the fresh, juicy fruit and light vegetables. We eat fruit here that we normally wouldn't in the States - a type of melon that, when cut up, goes nicely with chopped peaches; apricots; sweet cherries; green plums. We also eat the ordinary fruit like watermelon, grapes, kiwis, peaches, and nectarines. There is a store that sells a particular type of cherry tomatoes (here, they're called "seker domates" - sugar tomatoes) that I am obsessed with and I pop them into my mouth or eat them with feta cheese. DB seems to like every fruit I've offered to her, although she will only eat kiwi to a point.

We spent the Fourth of July at the beach on the Black Sea, just like last year. It was a bigger crowd this year and it was pretty fun. We didn't stay for s'mores and the sunset this time with an early bedtime for the littlest.

Two days after celebrating the Fourth, we left for a weeklong vacation in Cyprus with friends, Michelle and Shannon and their two girls about the same age as ours. They transferred their timeshare to a resort in Cyprus and invited us along. We stayed in a condo facing the sea and we watched gorgeous sunsets from the couch through the wide balcony doors thrown open to the breezes. The restaurant at the resort was staffed by Pakistanis and they made delicious Pakistani food. I couldn't eat enough of it. I was overjoyed to eat ethnic food, besides Turkish food and my own cooking. We rented a car and in Cyprus, they drive on the opposite side like Great Britain.

We mainly spent the vacation swimming in the pool where A was finally brave enough to put her face in the water and to jump into the pool without us catching her. She's turning into a fish and the sun is turning her into a brown nut (did I just mix my metaphors?). DB got her eighth tooth during vacation and loved the pool. On afternoons when she was crabby from teething and bad naps, she was easily lifted out of her crankiness by the spending time in the pool. The beach was nice, the waves were wonderful, and the Mediterranean Sea is warmer than the Black Sea.

We really needed a vacation. We were staying pretty busy and I had (and still do!) so much on my plate that my brain function was slowing. I was sinking into a fog, forgetting things, finding things in unusual places (for instance, a bag of curry powder in the freezer - ?!), and I could not think clearly. Case in point, I brought the camera for vacation but forgot the memory card. I also forgot floats, toys, books for the girls. You could call it the mommy brain but it's not; it has happened before I was ever married and having kids. It usually happens when I am stressed and have too much going on. It took about 6 days of vacation for the brain fog to finally clear and I felt more alert. The only decisions we had to make were whether we'd go to the pool or beach and what we were going to eat. I didn't have ten thousand things running through my head, anxiety over decisions to be made, a long to-do list, and the frustration of not being able to do it all (a job and raising a family). Ah, the simple life.

The monthlong fasting has started here so things seem to be pretty quiet. I am thankful for that. I know it sounds terrible but I confess that I look forward to the monthlong fasting, despite the reasons for their ritual. The city is just quieter and there is less traffic as people disappear to their summer homes out in the country or on the beach. The work of building relationships slows down for a bit and I can catch a bit of rest.

There is an express supermarket that is opening up one block over from our apartment and I'm pretty excited about it. The full-sized supermarket by the same name is in a mall that I drive to about once a month for pantry staples and paper items. Hopefully the express supermarket will carry everything I need and I don't have to make those monthly trips to the full-sized one anymore and daily trips to multiples stores. I mention this to provide a snapshot of our daily life - we go to multiple stores around our block everyday for fresh produce and for dinner ingredients. This express supermarket will cut down the time spent going to different stores and should have everything we need at a decent prices, even gluten-free items. Yay!

Here's a cultural tidbit: the folks here feed their babies differently than we do. For example, they don't have a problem feeding candy and ice cream to their babies and I don't do that with my babies. I'm always surprised when people give DB suckers, chocolate, and ice cream. The good thing is, they don't expect her to eat it right then so I'm always able to put their gifts away and eat it myself. Kind of a nice perk :-)

That's all I can think of to share. Even though I forgot the memory card to our camera, I took a few pictures with my phone. Here they are:

4th of July with other American expats

The Black Sea, taken from the cliff. Can you spot people swimming?

The first few minutes of acclimating to the wrong side of the car and the road

Early morning view of the Mediterranean from the condo

Our little water bug

This picture doesn't do justice to the gorgeous sunset - taken from our balcony

Getting Used To It

Last night, I put on a dress, did my hair and make-up, and went out.

Alone.

G stayed behind and put the girls to bed. As I opened the front door and crossed the threshold, I felt as if I were stepping out of the hectic mommy life into a carefree life. As I walked to the bus stop, I savored not having my little girl strapped to my body and holding hands with my big girl or wrangling with a stroller while making sure A keeps her hand on the stroller as she walks along. I savored not having different thoughts running frantically through my mind of ten thousand things I had on my to-do list. I left all that at the threshold.

The weather is very lovely now. I am thankful that it is June and the temperatures are still in the 70s. The breezes are refreshing and I do not need to turn on the AC unit yet. I was perfectly comfortable while waiting for the bus.

I got on a bus and I spent the ride sending text messages with a dear friend in the States. Normally, I would be hanging onto the girls as the bus lurches and stops in the chaotic traffic.

At the third stop, I got off and I walked along a tramway lined with shops, window shopping a bit on the way. I turned left on a cobblestone street and stepped inside an art studio. I'd gotten dressed for a gallery opening.

The artist, an American, had done a collection of work over two years, painting different parts of this city. Her style was to take pictures of interesting features of different buildings and paint a composite of those photographs in one painting. Each painting represented an area of the city. I liked her style but found the color scheme much too dark for my taste. I wasn't planning to purchase a painting and the somber colors cinched it for me. I talked with the charming artist and complimented her technique and said nothing of her choices of colors. All the other attendees were unfamiliar Americans, sipping on refreshment. There was a guitarist and singer providing background music.

I talked with the studio owner and his wife. She led me to the back where she was holding a painting that G bought from another opening. We both walked up the cobblestone street and stopped by a framing shop, across from a beautiful, old Orthodox church. I'd been in there once during Mass and the church was completely empty. It was sad.

We discussed the frames, I selected one, and the worker said it would be ready in an hour.

I continued to talk with my friend as we headed back to the studio, enjoying the evening breezes coming off the water. She went inside to continue her hostess duties. I hung back and found messages on my phone from a mother of a young baby. We commiserated over bad naps, exhaustion, frustration over lack of time and productivity. I didn't really want to talk to the American strangers inside the studio.

I looked up from my phone. The man who framed my painting had brought the painting over in less than an hour. I paid him and found my friend and bid her goodbye.

As I waited for a bus, I marveled at how fairly empty the sidewalks and streets were for a Friday night. Possibly the protests have something to do with that. The first bus that stops at my bus stop came along. It was packed to the brim. I would be able to step just inside the door and not move an inch further. I let it pass.

I took the next bus which wasn't as packed but it filled up along the way. I squeezed out at my stop with my painting, its glass and frame intact.

The sun had already set but the sky was still light when I walked along the newly paved and widened sidewalk to my home. I suddenly realized that I was finally used to the city. I was actually enjoying it. I didn't mind the press of the crowd on the bus and hanging on for dear life while the bus careened around corners. I was really okay with the urban life, as long as I can get a break from it periodically. I was glad that I was out alone, not to have something else distracting me, and to muse over my adjustment to the city.

Maybe this city isn't so bad after all.

We have secured a place to live while we come back to the States for 6 months next year. It is cute little white house with a gigantic yard in North Carolina. I look forward to the open spaces, the big yard, the roads less traveled. Yet, I'm okay with this city.

I'm content in the here and the now.

Protests

It's been about a week since protests have been going on here. I'm not going into why and how or offer an analysis and opinion. We are not citizens here and this is not our fight. I am sure you have seen on the news about the protests and you should have plenty of information from different news sources. The protests began with a simple issue and it has morphed into a bigger, complex issue involving the Prime Minister and his style of leadership. People are discontent and expressing it through protests and social media. Freedom of speech isn't sacred here as it is in the States and people have been arrested for "inciting protests" on social media. The government is monitoring the social media and tracking down addresses. So, for that reason, I err on extreme caution here on the blog.

The protests have spread to other cities mainly in the western part of the country. The eastern part is mostly aligned with the Prime Minister who share the same conservative values as they so they are silent. The western part is mostly secular who may not agree with the PM's actions. In my city, the protests are mainly on the other side of the Strait. On my side of the Strait, the only hint that anything is going on is when people begin banging pots, pans, cow bells, blowing whistles, honking horns, flashing lights, and marching through the streets and blocking traffic, every night at 9pm. They do this in solidarity with the protestors. Each night, the expression of solidarity decreases in the length. All the marches so far have been peaceful, although the protests in two hotspots in my city have drawn some clashes with the police, as in other cities.

The air here is supercharged with tension and excitement. It'll be interesting to see what will come out of this. I'm not sure protests here have any effect on the leadership and policies so my guess is that it will fizzle out. I'm amazed that it has lasted this long. It's not another Arab Spring, as some news sources are saying, because the characteristics are different. I wasn't surprised this would draw some news coverage but I am amazed at the sheer amount that it has garnered already. I think it's because of recent instability in the Middle East.

So, friends and family members, do not worry about us. Even if things change (and it can change swiftly), we are under very good care of our company who are monitoring the situation and send us daily updates, advice for our safety, and contingency plans. Our neighborhood is quiet and we have seen no marches or gatherings of any kind around our block. Life continues as usual; shops are open, buses are running, people are going about their daily business, and we are doing the same, albeit in an alert state.

We love you.