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.

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.

Baby Myths and Cultural Clash

I might have mentioned in a previous post about the myths surrounding pregnancy and the unsound advice I encountered while pregnant. It doesn't stop here; it continues surrounding the baby.

For instance, DB has a strawberry birthmark on her upper right arm. No one knows what causes these strawberry marks but they are a tight cluster of blood vessels. The myth here is that birthmarks are caused by something the mother stole and ate or smelled while pregnant. I asked what it was that I'd supposedly stolen and eaten but they did not know; it is unique to each pregnant woman.

Here's another example:

My language teacher, H, came to meet DB when she was a week old. H pinned this gold coin (I'm not sure it's real - maybe just symbolic) to DB's shirt and said it will keep away jaundice. I'm not sure if that's a common belief here surrounding the coin but I do know it is a typical gift to a newborn and the parents can convert the coin into cash for whatever baby needs.

Below is a picture I am throwing in, even though it has nothing to do with the topic at hand.

Language teacher and her husband - love them.

My language teacher asked me if I kept DB's umbilical cord after it fell off. I didn't. She said I should have because I could take it to an university that I want her to go to and surreptitiously throw it over the fence onto their property. That will ensure DB's acceptance to the university one day.

Babies are considered angels. I was feeding DB and my guests were getting ready to leave. I made as if I was going to get up and they fussed at me and told me to stay put because DB is an angel. I don't know if that meant that I needed to handle DB in some especial way.

Every time they ooohed and ahhed over the baby, they say "mas'allah" and spit twice. Not literally on the baby. They do this to keep jealous spirits or evil eye from harming the baby. Or at least, that's my understanding. "Mas'allah" means "as God wills."

They also seem to think the slightest breeze that runs over the baby will get her sick. The first two weeks of DB's life were very hot and I had the AC running and DB was covered with a blanket. The guests I was hosting scolded us for having the AC running. I obliged and turned it off and just patiently roasted in my own apartment until my guests left and I could turn it back on. They commented that DB's skin had become red and I politely pointed out that she turns red when she is hot and that's why we run the AC. I also said American babies like it cool (wink) and they seem to accept that. They wouldn't have accepted my more logical explanation that babies adjust and become used to whatever temperature you keep.

Since then, the weather has cooled down enough that I don't need the AC anymore and open windows suffice to keep cool. Today, I was admonished for having various windows open because the baby might get sick (I just can't win). They also said the reason behind her spitting up is the lovely breeze running through the apartment (huh?). They were concerned about which windows were open and had me shut one and leave the others. I didn't understand the logic behind that and didn't bother asking.

The same guest I hosted today immediately told me after coming into my apartment that I was holding my baby wrong. That got my hackles up. The three times that I've had nationals in my home since DB was born a month ago were full of advice and scolding concerning the baby (and her big sister on occasion), such as how I was holding her, how often I should feed her (every time DB made a peep or fussed, they said I needed to feed her, regardless that I'd just fed her half hour before), how she should be laying, where to set her down in the living room (out of the way, out of the breeze, away from anything that might fall on her during an earthquake), how often she needed to be bathed, how I should put her down to sleep, etc.

Wouldn't that drive you insane? It's driving me nuts because my culture is clashing with theirs. I have to accept that this is their culture. It's okay to advise, scold, and boss each other to death concerning childcare and probably everything else. I could do it also and they wouldn't bat an eye. This is a family- and group-oriented culture, the complete opposite of our individualistic, independent culture of America. In America, no mother would put up with another mother telling her how to raise her children. Most of us will tactfully keep quiet and avoid meddling in other people's business.

I was told the two ways to respond are a) "my mother taught me" and b) "this is how we do it in America."

Why response A works: this culture places a big premium on mothers. From what I have observed and heard, mothers are the ones who rear their children, pass down cultural norms, and basically educate their children. Every child grows up believing everything his mother said. If a mother told her child that indoor plants in a room suck the oxygen out and the child grows up and learns in biology class that plants actually create oxygen as a byproduct through photosynthesis, he will still believe his mother over his education. A friend of mine who earned his MBA here said his professor bemoaned the fact that the biggest thing holding this country back is the mothers because they continue to perpetuate myths and beliefs that can keep people in a grip of irrational fear and ignorance. So, if I say that my mother taught me, they respect that and leave me alone.

Why response B works: they understand things are done differently in other cultures and usually accept that fact. I submit to their culture in many ways, but there are things I won't budge on (like parenting) and will use this response.

So, I will have some tough navigation ahead. Even with the unsound advice, scolding, and myths driving me crazy, I will need to maintain a delicate balance of grace and respect without giving up my parenting philosophy and without alienating the people that I came to build relationships with.

This Is How We Roll

We're totally rocking this funny little foreign car. It's a Fiat Doblo, assigned to us by our company, a stick shift and drives like a van. Note the hubcap - it's the only one left on the entire car. I know I lost one hubcap side-swiping a car. We used to share this car with another family who has lost a hubcap or two.

It's madness driving in this densely populated city that suffers from terrible congestion in their streets and highways. For example, it took us 2 hours to drive 20 miles from the airport to our house today. Google Maps will tell you that it should take you 29 minutes to drive that 20-mile route from the airport. HA! Why did it take us 2 hours? There are a lot of bottlenecks on that route and too many people driving.

Here, drivers do not drive in an orderly way and they cut each other off constantly. Horns blare all the time. There are millions of one-way streets and the city isn't planned very well at all. It can be bewildering. I sideswiped a car and lost the hubcap because I was driving on a very narrow cobblestone street with both sides jammed with parallel-parked cars. I don't like driving here and don't drive very far - just in my municipality (friends' houses, grocery store, park, etc). G loves driving here because it's challenging and he drives with one hand on the horn perpetually.

Definitely experiencing city life....

Random Acts of Kindness

We have a "charge card" for public transportation where we load money into it and use up the money as we flash the card on a little machine perched next to the driver after boarding the bus. The machine chirps and different colors flash indicating different things along with the remaining balance on your card - green ("your fare has been charged now git"), blue ("oh, free ride 'cause you're a student or disabled"), and red ("you ain't got no money on yo' card, get off!").

A couple of days ago, I borrowed G's "charge card" to take the bus and meet the summer volunteer on our team and we were going to meet someone together. I'd lent my "charge card" to someone and forgot to get it back so that's why I filched G's card. No matter. I got on the bus and flashed my card to the little fare eater machine. It flashed red. The card "ain't got no money." Before I could hop off and figure out what to do, the driver had already shut the door and started rolling.

There I was, getting a free ride. I stood there right next to the driver, wondering what to do. I couldn't just slink off and hope the driver says nothing. Integrity is at stake and my conscience would kill me. I pulled out the card from my wallet (you can scan through wallets and not have to whip them out - awesome, no?) and scanned it again, hoping it was a mistake. It flashed red and showed a balance of .47 lira. A fare usually costs roughly about 2 lira or so. Yep, no money on the card. And I most definitely informed G of this when I eventually got home.

I held up the card at the driver and said, "yok," (one of the, oh...five words I know in Turkish) indicating the card was empty. We were approaching the next stop and the bus was slowing down. I made a move to get off the bus but he waved me aside, which I interpreted as "go sit down." Right at the moment, someone tapped me on the shoulder and insisted that I sit down (I think my belly is big enough to alarm people) and exactly at the same moment, a man came out of the hot interior of the bus and scanned his card for me.

I sat down, chagrined. I thought, "Hey, I do have the fare in coins. I'll just go pay that guy." The passenger across the aisle saw me digging the coins out and he gave me the characteristic facial expression particular to this culture, which I understood to mean, "don't worry about it."

I was stubborn. I have trouble with people paying for me, especially strangers. I tried to pay the guy and I could tell I offended him. I pocketed the money, thanked him, and went back to my seat.

Acts of kindness from the driver, a random stranger who paid my fare, and the person who gave up his seat for me. I'll never see them again in a city of 16 million.

I got off the bus and met with our volunteer, who I will call "J." She's a sweet girl. I told her about what happened, slapping my forehead about it. I'd felt like a doofus for not having money on my card. Wait, it was G's card. Blame the husband.

We went on our errand together which brought no result. I was a bit deflated because we'd tried to find this person before and didn't have luck then either. So, J and I went to Starbucks.

I ordered a giant (I forget the Starbucks lingo...tall, grande, something?) mango smoothie. Oh, my. It was perfect for a hot day. I gave my debit card to the cashier and it didn't work. It's really annoying because our debit cards don't work with certain locations and it mainly depends on the bank the business uses. I tried to tell the cashier to use a different swiper machine thingie with a different bank but J offered to pay for my and her smoothies. Of course, I protested and of course, she refused to let me pay her back.

Another act of kindness. Wait, I'm not done yet. I've got one more.

So, we chatted and finished our tall-grande-something mango smoothies and it was time to go home. I'd forgotten that I needed to load up the "charge card" to get home. I wasn't sure where the closest ATM was and so I decided not to bother and just walk home instead. J insisted on putting me on the bus, using her "charge card."

J teased me saying it was my day to be pampered and paid for! :-)

Celebrate Teeth

Yesterday, our family and the two volunteers helping us went to a cultural celebration for my language teacher's grandbaby. It was a celebration of baby's upper front teeth breaking through. I'll just tell you what we saw and then maybe I can give a brief explanation from what I found on the internet.

The party was small and laid-back. When it was time, the parents and grandparents propped up the 8-month-old baby on the floor with a blanket underneath. They covered the baby with a sheer cloth (I think it was like a decorative tablecloth or a big square scarf) and one grandmother poured what looked like cooked and cooled barley over the baby's head. They smiled and clapped and then quickly cleaned it up. A few minutes later, they brought in a tray full of toys and objects and spread them in front of the baby. We watched with anticipation which object the baby will pick up. It turned out to be an antique camera. Everyone cheered, laughed, and chattered. Afterwards, they brought out food for everyone to eat and the main traditional dish was barley (or whole wheat?) with chickpeas and some candy that looked like jelly beans.

Does that make any sense?

It is believed (and I think it may possibly just be tradition now, not belief) that if this ceremony isn't held when the baby gets its first tooth, the baby will have a tough time teething. The ceremony is to bless the baby with good health and fortune.

So, why wheat? Wheat is significant in this ceremony and especially in Turkish culture overall because bread is such a basic, vital food for survival.  Hence the word "breadwinner." Bread is an enormous part of the diet here and imagine their horror and looks of sympathy when I tell folks here that I cannot eat wheat. It's not just that they love bread and are accustomed to bread being part of every single meal of the day; I think it would kill a Turk not to be able to eat bread as it's part of their identity, culture, and heritage.  Anyway, wheat symbolizes life because they believe wheat was the first food to be processed into food and it helped human life to flourish. Thus, wheat is important for survival just as teeth are important for eating and survival. Teeth helps a human to flourish; wheat helps human life to flourish. Wheat has a lot of symbolism like fertility, love, charity, etc. I think it may also play a role in wedding ceremonies here.

As for the objects on the tray for the baby to pick from, they represent different occupations that the baby might grow up to work in. A plane might represent pilot, camera a photographer, toy piano a musician, scissors a tailor, phone a secretary, toy computer a programmer, ruler an engineer, etc. Yesterday, the father was especially pleased his baby picked the antique camera. I was told photography was an enthusiasm of his.

The traditional food served to guests usually have wheat in it (whole, hulled wheat, pastries, cake, etc) and if everyone eats a helping from each dish, it'll help the baby's teeth to grow strong. I didn't eat the wheat dishes but I think the baby's teeth will be okay regardless.

Children's Day

Yesterday was a big holiday. It was Sovereignty and Children's Day. I've pulled some tidbits of information from various websites for a quick summary of this holiday. Turkey was previously Ottoman Empire and went to war to gain independence from occupation. It was April 23, 1920 when they laid down the foundations of an "independent, secular, modern republic." Ataturk, the founder of modern Turkey, "dedicated sovereignty day to the children and entrusted in the hands of the youth the protection of this sovereignty and independence." They do a big celebration every year.

Aside from this celebration, there is a pilgrimage on Children's Day every year. I am not sure why it's on Children's Day or even if they are related. Thousands (I've heard anywhere between 20,000 to 50,000) pilgrims travel from Turkey, Greece, the Balkans, etc to make the trip to the island and up a big hill (small mountain?) to a Greek monastery perched at the top. The island is a 30-min ferry ride away the city. There are no motor vehicles allowed on the island and residents and tourists travel by foot, bike, or horse and carriage.

This pilgrimage has some traditions entwined into it. Pilgrims run spools of thread starting at the bottom of the hill that monastery is perched on, all the way up the monastery itself. Why? No one knows. Maybe people think it brings them good luck. People also buy different colored candles (each color represent something you need prayer for like house, destiny, marriage, children, protection, etc) to light up at the monastery. They go there to pray for whatever they want/need - protection, healing, etc. And it isn't just the Greek Orthodox believers that go - there are also Muslims and people of other faiths. We saw a great many foreigners there. In addition to candles and threads, we also saw people buying small boxes of cubed sugar to pass out for free. Why? Maybe it's to curry favor from the Supreme Being above. We also saw cheap pins, coins, rings tied with different color ribbons representing the same things as the candles for sale. I'm not sure what they do those. Other things we saw were small piles of rocks on top of a rock wall leading up to the monastery which was also covered with candles. We saw strips of cloth tied on branches and trees for...good luck?

My language teacher makes this pilgrimage every year. She invited myself, G, and A to go with her, her husband, and two friends. On this perfectly gorgeous day, our little band met at the ferry and took it across to the island. Getting off the ferry, we were instantly met with an immense crowd. We got into line to wait for a horse and carriage to ride up to the top -- it ended up being a hour and half wait in the bright sunshine. The long wait and the jostling crowd began testing our patience a bit. We finally got onto a horse and carriage and enjoyed a ride through the picturesque island to the bottom of a big hill where the monastery was. We were met again with a crowd when we got out of the carriage.

We pushed A in a stroller up the rough, cobblestone road (it was ROUGH) amid the crowd coming down and the crowd going up. It was getting hot and our patience was wearing thinner and thinner. It felt like a mile up the hill. Poor A was such a trooper the entire day, hardly fussing except when she was bored with waiting or when she wanted out of the stroller. Even then, it was minimal. Then she was jostled up the road in a stroller, which was probably an uncomfortable ride. The stroller kept getting snagged in the millions of threads laid down by pilgrims. We were getting tangled in them and were snapping the threads to release ourselves.

By the time we made it to the top, the crowds outside the monastery were so dense that we didn't think we could get through to the monastery itself with the stroller. It was past A's nap time and she hadn't been to the potty yet. I was allowing for some irritability from fatigue (even though she was doing amazingly well) but I knew forcing her to endure the heat in a crowd, standing stock-still, waiting just to see a building would be too hard on her. We decided to part ways with our national friends and head back down the hill. By the time we arrived at the bottom and broke free of the crowds, we enjoyed the island breezes, the surroundings, and the sunshine. A enjoyed seeing all the horses. We walked the rest of the way down the island to the ferry. We didn't know the ferry made stops at all the islands on the way back to mainland so it was an hour-long ferry ride. Not a bad ending to a long day.

Despite the crowds, we enjoyed the island. It is beautiful with the surrounding sea, pine trees, old-fashioned houses, scenic overlooks, etc. We would love to return to the island on a normal day (in other words, without the crowds) and explore.

On the ferry to the island

My language teacher's husband on right, his friend on left - hilarious guys

My sweet language teacher

Morning boat out to sea

Rusted bike

Fun ride

Note how crowded it is 

Love the rich detailing

Horse/carriage and biking

Road up the hill to monastery, covered in threads

Found a break in the crowd to snap the threads on the ground

Scenic view of seagull and neighboring island

One of the many neat houses with Ottoman era architecture

Ferry stop at another island; a mosque by the sea

(If you are currently on the blog website itself, you can click on a picture and get a slideshow of the pictures in the post, with a bigger and better view of the pictures.)

Easter: A First

Testing the water

Easter this year was our first in two ways: our first in this country and first at a beach. Our small group took outdoor grills, meat, side dishes, and desserts for a potluck picnic to the beach in a long caravan of cars. The beach was about an hour away on the Black Sea. It was quiet and we had the beach to ourselves. It was an absolutely gorgeous day - sunny and warm with a strong, cool wind. The water was bitterly cold and no one could keep their feet in the water for more than a few seconds without pain setting in. It didn't deter A from wading in and out all day long.

One end of the beach, fun rocks with little pools to explore

Exploring

Grilling out: hamburgers, kebabs, BBQ chicken, etc

D on left, tossing a frisbee in high wind, pregnant and awkward on beach sand

Other end of the beach, rock cliffs

The kids played in the sand, the older ones went climbing and exploring. After the guys were done grilling out, we gathered together to eat and then we had our Easter service, sitting in beach chairs and on blankets. After that, we had an egg hunt for the little kids.

It was weird hiding eggs in sand and rocks - no bushes, grass, leaves, branches...

Egg hunts get more fun as A gets older

A's loot

I'd post cute pictures of the other kids hunting for eggs but I don't feel comfortable doing so without their parents' permission. Not every parent wants their kid's face plastered on the internet, believe it or not.

It was an altogether best day ever. We got away from the city, A had a blast playing and hunting for eggs, the weather was perfect, we hung out with awesome people, we remembered the Son and honored Him, and we were pleasantly pooped by the end of the day. We couldn't have asked for better.

Here's a cool picture to close this post:

What A Day

I woke up tired. G was in the kitchen with A, eating breakfast and the coffee was perking. After I had my coffee, I got A ready for preschool. I dressed her, fixed her hair, and when it was time to put on her shoes and coat, she refused to comply. I tried putting her shoes and coat on her but she resisted. So, I disciplined her for refusing to obey my initial command to put them on herself and for resisting when I tried to put them on her myself. Of course, A cried. I calmed her down, explained that she did not obey Mommy and that was why she was disciplined. She accepted the coat and shoes when I put them on her. I wiped her tears, gave her a hug, assured her that I loved her, and then she was out of the door with her daddy to preschool for the day.

I was left with an unpleasant feeling for the next hour. You never want to fight with your spouse just minutes before parting on a sour note. I don't want to do that either with my (nearly) three-year-old. I questioned G when he came home. Was A upset? She was quiet on the way to school. Was she still quiet when you got to school? No, she began smiling and talking. She was happy.

Then I burst into tears (thanks, pregnancy hormones). I regretted disciplining her just minutes before parting with her, even though I'd tried reconciling and parting on a better note. What a bad way to say goodbye and to start your day! I had to fight the urge to rush and pull her out of preschool and just smother her with love all day.

So, this may be bad parenting but I resolved never to discipline just before parting for the day. I can still be firm but swatting her bottom could've waited. If I must discipline, I would keep A home longer from school to take the time to reconcile, soothe, talk to her, and reestablish peace. It's essential to me that A can leave her mommy feeling secure and confident in her mommy's love.

I tried to have my quiet time but it was useless. I was too emotional to concentrate and could only pr'y for her. I showered and got dressed to go to language tutoring, feeling the energy slowly drain from me. I was so tired. I got my bag ready with my camera, my wallet, my lunch, my language work, etc.

I got on a minibus to go to my language teacher's home. A minibus looks something like this:

In my area, they're usually a sky blue color and the model is usually closer to the green one above. Each minibus is independently owned. They're not owned by government or by a company. A minibus will have a sign with the origin and destination and you can flag one down like a taxi at any point along the road and they will deposit you wherever you want to get off on that route. A minibus will start at the origin (a bus depot) and run a route all the way to its destination (another bus depot). Then the driver will relax, drink tea, eat a meal, and start the same route in reverse. A single route will have several minibuses running it so you will continually see minibuses with the same destination coming along the road every few minutes.

Back to my story. I got on a minibus, paid my fare (usually equivalent of a dollar or slightly less depending on how far you go), and settled in a seat. I had my bag slung across my chest and removed the strap to leave the bag resting between me and the interior wall. It's not a comfortable ride with lousy springs on a bumpy road, stop-and-go traffic, and the bus also stopping and going continually to pick up and drop off passengers. I drowsed a bit along the 30-min ride. I was so tired.

As soon as I saw my stop, I hopped off with another passenger and crossed the road to start walking three or four blocks to my language teacher's house. I spied something that I need for a language project which requires a photo. I reached for my bag. A sickening feeling flooded over me...I left my bag on the minibus. My bag, that I normally left slung across my chest while riding any kind of public transportation, had my wallet and my camera in it.

I froze for a few seconds. I had my cell phone, a fare for another minibus ride, my house keys, and my public transportation pass in my coat pockets. I debated for a second - should I try chasing it down or just give it up? It may be long gone and even if I could catch up with the minibus, it may already be stolen.

Something tenacious and optimistic rose up in me. I knew the Father above could do wonderful things. I couldn't just give it up without trying. I started sprinting down the crowded, busy road after the minibus but it was too far away. Knowing the minibus would eventually reach the depot, I figured I'd hop on another minibus headed to the same depot and search for it at the depot. I sprinted another block before I spotted a minibus. I know I looked strange with my coat flapping open in the breeze and my round belly sticking out as I ran.

I got on the minibus, paid my fare, and was so overwhelmed with emotion that I started asking if anyone on the bus spoke English. No one, of course. I pulled my phone out and texted an American friend who could speak the language. I sent off a nearly incoherent message to her explaining what'd happened and would she talk to the driver for me? She called my phone and I handed it to the driver. He promised to help. I couldn't help myself and I burst into tears - for the second time this morning. The driver gave me a pained look, jabbered at me, and I continued to cry, in spite of all the passengers looking at me. The little old ladies clucked at me and did reassuring motions at me. The driver handed me a couple of tissues and tried to assure me.

On the long ride to the depot, after a session of kicking myself for being so careless, I calmed down and while hoping against hope that someone was trustworthy and turned in my bag, I began to think about the possibility of not recovering my bag and how to get home. I was going to an area that I'd never been to before. I wasn't worried about finding my way back home - we were riding along train tracks (which also runs a block from my home) so I knew I could get on a train. I was seeing city buses go by with the number that I knew came through my neighborhood so I had a second option.

When we finally arrived at the busy depot, I began searching each minibus with no luck. My strange behavior was attracting attention from the other drivers and passengers who were disembarking and embarking. The drivers began asking me questions and were flustered when I couldn't speak the language. Other drivers opened their minibuses to let me search them. They clustered around me and it became a long blur of mad texting to my friend, a series of phone calls between her, a driver who took an interest in my plight, and a policeman on my phone, and many conversations swirling around me, at me. The driver made calls on his phone to other drivers with no result. No one had my bag.

I was done and ready to go home. The kind driver who was acting on my behalf put me on his minibus free of charge and started the same route back to my neighborhood. He mimed that we would look for the bag along the way (or at least I think that was what he said) but I knew it wasn't going to happen.

On the way, he stopped at a police car, spoke to a policeman, and motioned me off the minibus. My meeting with the policemen is of no importance with no results and I am only mentioning this because when it was all said and done, the policeman put me on a minibus and paid my fare.

When I got home, it'd been four hours since I first left for my language lesson. I was hungry and my exhaustion, which had disappeared under the adrenaline during the entire ordeal adventure, came back full force. I ate a late lunch and collapsed on the couch for a nap.

Since then, A has come home and our relationship was restored as if this morning never happened. She's happy, sparkling, chattering away a mile a minute. I'm thankful.

And now here I am, chronicling this for posterity so that, while I cringe now at having lost my wallet and camera out of carelessness, I will read this and smile later on. Though someone probably stole my bag, I saw acts of kindness. I am satisfied that I tried my best to get my bag back despite language barriers, instead of wondering whether I could've successfully retrieved my bag and living with regret. I'm thankful for the tenacity and optimism deep down inside, born of hope and belief in the Sovereign One who can do miracles.

(Yes, we've already canceled all debit and credit cards and have taken care of everything. No worries, parents!)

Tulips

I love tulips. I'm from Florida and tulips don't bloom there - at least, not ordinarily - because the weather doesn't get cold enough. So, tulips have never been on my radar. I first developed a love for tulips when G sent a bouquet of tulips to my workplace for our first Valentine's. It came in a box packed with bags of ice slurry, complete with flower food and a vase. It was even more special because G was living in South America and I was in the US with absolutely no expectations of celebrating Valentine's with my long-distance boyfriend. At work, I was given a long box while helping a customer and I absently thought it was a package of work materials. When the customer left, I opened the box and there were beautiful, perfect red tulips nestled in the box from my love. You just have to imagine my utter surprise. It was better than getting roses. So, since then, I've loved tulips and look forward to every spring when tulips bloom. I had a June wedding and was disappointed when I couldn't get tulips for my bridal bouquet.

We went out of town over the weekend on a jet plane and I was reading the airline magazine. I was surprised to discover the tulips originally came from Central Asia. I always thought it originated in northern Europe and Holland just had a mad and slightly odd hobby of growing tulips. I say slightly odd because of the grand scale of their obsession with tulips. Ever see those enormous fields of tulips? The Latin name for tulips comes from the Turkish word for "turban," which apparently the flower resembles. Tulips were cultivated in gardens in my host country well before the 16th century. Fancy that. I'm in a region where one of my favorite flowers came from! The red tulips are decorated on ceramics here and is a symbol associated with my host country.

How did tulips get to Europe? Some dude from Europe saw them growing in Constantinople in middle of 1500s and got some bulbs or seeds. The earliest description of tulips growing in Europe was late 1500s. This is about when tulips had arrived in Holland. "Tulip mania" started in both Holland and my host country about 1630s so bulbs were highly coveted and sold for incredible prices and fortunes were made and lost in speculating in tulip bulbs! How crazy is that? (I did a simple Google search on the history of tulips so if you want in-depth info, just do the same).

So, the reason I am posting about this is that I've wanted to share things about this country, its culture, history, and interesting things. I was just surprised to see tulips part of the history here and they're one of my favorite flowers. When I read the airline magazine and found that it originated here, I got the idea to try growing some on my own. If it came from here, then I might have success in growing some in a pot.

I just remembered that tomorrow is Valentine's Day. Happy Valentine's Day to you!

Eerie

Have you ever seen the movie called The Happening, written and directed by M. Night Shyamalan? It was well executed and the idea was good but it was one of the worst I ever saw as far as gory movies go. It was so gory. I will do my best to describe some parts of the movie (which you will have seen if you saw previews for the movie) that relate to this post without spoiling the movie for you, if you haven't seen it.

The story is set in Pittsburgh, a bustling, teeming, busy city that never stops. You get the sense of people always moving; the parks full of people playing and walking, ongoing construction, heavy traffic on streets with blaring horns and sidewalks full of pedestrians headed somewhere, etc. Full of motion and noise.

Then....the wind blows.

A calm settles over the city.

Hurrying pedestrians are stopped dead in their tracks, motionless and staring vacantly ahead. Cars are completely stopped with drivers sitting deathly still in their seats. People enjoying the weather in the park stand where they are, also staring vacantly into space. Those reading books on park benches are sitting and staring expressionlessly ahead, unconscious of books lying in their laps.

It is too calm. Too still. It bodes ill for the folks, who became frozen as the wind blew over them.

At 9:05 am on Thursday, November 10th, I was living in a scene like that. Literally. We were in our apartment and we heard what sounded like a tornado warning siren. We walked to the windows to see what was going on. People on the sidewalk were stopped dead in their tracks. People looking out windows didn't move. Our doorman had been sweeping the stoop of our building and was also standing stock still with the broom in his hand, staring off into the distance. No cars were moving on what was normally a busy street. I saw a stooped grandma with her head covered by a scarf standing motionless. A group of young men stood together in a group on a corner, staring, motionless. One of them had his phone to his ear and as far as I could tell, he was not talking. It was a scene straight out of The Happening.

It was too eerie. But why the siren? Was something terrible about to happen? As far as we could tell, the weather was cold and overcast but calm with some gentle breezes. No signs of a storm. An earthquake? It's impossible to predict an earthquake and sound an alarm in advance. Catastrophe? No one seemed alarmed or running around in panic. The stillness was strange - I felt a little sliver of fear. What was happening?

Finally, after a couple of minutes, the alarm stopped and everybody suddenly went into motion. The doorman went back to sweeping. People disappeared from windows. The grandmother continued to the corner and around it. The gaggle of young men crossed the street. Cars started going by. Life resumed.

We were baffled. Hour and half later, G's language teacher showed up for their daily tutoring session. I asked about the siren and described what we saw outside our building - the frozen people on sidewalks and in windows. After he explained, he started laughing because how odd it must've seemed to us (I'd shown him the preview of The Happening on my computer). I was laughing because it turned out to be something simple as what I will explain below.

So, here's the story. At 9:05 am on November 10th of every year, everyone stops what they are doing and stands still to observe two minutes of silence in honor of the founder of modern Turkey, Ataturk. It was at the exact moment and day that he died in 1938. The entire country observes this moment of silence every year at this specific date and time. Today is basically Ataturk Memorial Day.

Ataturk was the first in the Central Asia and Middle East region to establish a democracy, back in early 1920s. They continue to be a successful model of what a Muslim society with a democratic government looks like. Many Turks love Ataturk for his brilliance, progressive views, his leadership and honor him every year.

Not The Happening, but a memorial. Whew.

Views

The building that we live in has only two apartments per floor. The stairwell and elevator shaft is in the center of the building so apartments occupy opposite ends of the building. That means that we have three walls to ourselves with windows all around. All our views are south, southwest, west, northwest, and north. So, I thought I'd post pictures of what we see out of our windows everyday. The pictures were taken at twilight so they're not the best. If I wait til bright daylight, I'll likely forget and keep forgetting so I figured I'd take the opportunity now and sacrifice quality.

North view

Close up of north view

Northwest view; from living room

The sun sets behind this building; west view from living room

Southwest view from living room

Southwest view

South view from Ava's bedroom

South view from kitchen; this is what I see while washing dishes below the window.

Not spectacular views. As urban as we are, we don't have views of an amazing skyline either. In fact, I'm not even sure there's many spectacular skylines in this city. Well, there you have it and now you can imagine the city life we live....