Monday, February 26, 2007

Adventures in Istanbul: take two





Our second day in Istanbul called for some hardcore sight-seeing. After guzzling bottled water in order to fend off any raki induced malaise, we headed off to the Haghia Sophia, “Divine Wisdom” in Greek. Probably Istanbul’s 2nd most well recognized architectural feat, this domed behemoth actually started out as a church, built by Orthodox followers.When the Muslim’s invaded and took over Istanbul, they liked the structure so much that they used it as the template for all mosques they built thereafter (the Blue Mosque is actually based on a Church, which is why the two look so similar….how crazy!). Inside the Haghia Sophia there had been amazing mosaics of Biblical scenes, which were plastered over by, as the guidebook described, “mediocre muslim art.” In the 1960’s, a massive effort to recover the mosaics was made, and you can now see a decent portion of these breathtaking mosaics. This Church/mosque has such amazing architecture, but I found it most interesting for the mind-blowing intersection of religion and culture. The best part was the painting of Mary and baby Jesus on the ceiling, then off to the side a gigantic pendant inscribed with Allah on it. Simply breathtaking.

Topkaki palace came next, which housed all of the Sultans, their families, and their mignons….5,000 people living there, all at the same time! The best part here was getting to see (ok, PAYING to see) the harem. There were some 300 cavernous rooms built into a separate side of the palace for all of the sultan’s concubines, female relatives, and mistresses. No men at all were allowed, expect for the Enochs, black African slaves who had been emasculated, and forced to keep guard. A special bedroom and entrance for the Sultan had been built, with special water that could be turned on to drown out “important conversation” (or *ahem* frolicking as one book put it….how scandalous!).

After all the sightseeing, we set off (prepared this time) to find a nice, decent priced place for dinner. We walked the side streets adjacent to the tram-way, and were immediately accosted by a throng of restaurant owners. The prices were high, and on a whim (we didn’t think you could do this) we attempted to haggle for prices on dinner. One owner (who we will soon find out is a Kurd named Jimmy) was receptive, and offered up drinks, appetizers, the main course, and dessert all for 25 TYL (about 18 USD). The highlight of this meal was the delicious hummus, which I hadn’t had at all since I’ve been in Switzerland, and my chicken and vegetable stew, served in a traditional steel bowl. But better than the food were the people we met: a French couple visiting and taking their very cute son (who was studying in Istanbul) out to dinner; a Swiss couple from Zurich, both very reserved yet friendly, the woman whom we come to find out is in the final running to design the new Swiss bank notes; and later, a crazy, party-hearty pair of Irish newlyweds, with whom who we drink raki, smoke melon flavored water-pipe (as they say in Istanbul), talk about Zombie movies and swap traveling stories until 2am.

We had had high hopes for an early night and some quality sleep…..but this was SO much better, definitely a night I won’t soon forget.

Ah, the bittersweet last day. We slept in until the latest hour possible, then headed back to the Grand-Bazaar for some final purchases….most of which I cannot disclose here, because many will be receiving presents either via mail or upon my return in August. I, however, haggled for a dirt-cheap price on a pair of black and white knock-off Puma’s (score!), an amazing pink and purple tapestry/wall hanging, a beautiful pink cashmere/silk pashmina, and some really soft and comfy “genie” pants to sleep in, also pink (I think I see a theme developing…..all the girliness I rejected as a child is coming back to haunt me).

The rest of the day we wandered the streets of Taksim, the younger, hipper, more modern area, and took our version of a “river cruise,” also known as riding the commuter ferryboat in the wrong direction and then taking it back again (hey, $2.00 vs. $15!). Exhausted after our final day, we had one last great meal of turkish meat, vegetables, bread and rice pudding, and headed back to our hostel to pack up and say good-bye to this great city.

Our plane departed Turkey at 3:30am, and after bus, train and tram I didn’t arrive back in Geneva until 10am. I woke up 2 hrs later puking my guts out, and up until a few hours ago hadn’t felt good enough to get out of bed, let alone get on the computer. Looking at pictures and writing this blog has already made me nostalgic for the amazing 3 days I spent in Turkey; so many amazing people, sights, smells, sounds, taste. One thing is certain…I will definitely be back.

Tesekkür ederim, Istanbul
Tesekkür ederim, Turkey

See you soon.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Tea, Sugar, Dream: Adventures in Istanbul (part 1)




Tesekkür ederim! This is how you spell “Thank you” in Turkish. But you guessed right, it doesn’t only look difficult to pronounce. After fumbling over this key phrase and attempting to parrot one of our (many) new found Turkish friends, we were offered this helpful mnemonic clue: Tea, first. Then sugar. Then dream. Tesekkür ederim! Simple, right?!?

Language barriers aside, Turkey is now at the forefront on my list of favorite places in the world. Even though I only got the whirlwind tour (3 days….easily could have spent 2 weeks exploring Istanbul alone), it was enough to whet my appetite for all things Turkish.

Arriving at the hostel, weary from a 4am arrival (Thank you, EasyJet!) we (by we I mean Julie, Mel and myself) met the owners/hostel namesakes, the Bahaus brothers. Advised that drinking the tap water was a definite no-no, we ponied up 1.50 YTL (new Turkish Lira), for a 2 litre bottle, assured that it was “the best price in town.” The reason for this was later explained by one of the Bahaus brothers that he was “making war” with one of competing shop owners. Our room at Bahaus was certainly not luxury; but it was clean and warm with OK bathrooms…and I was pretty ecstatic about that for the mere 18.50 swiss francs a night that we were paying!

The next morning we begrudgingly awoke before 10 so we could get our free breakfast. After an *interesting* meal of: bread, a concoction which tasted like honey and apricot jam mixed together, a hunk of feta-like cheese, olives, and a hard-boiled egg, we set off for our first day of exploring “the cradle of civilization” (as all the tourist shop books proclaimed).

Our first stop was the Blue Mosque, one of Turkey’s largest and oldest houses of worship, and one of Istanbul’s most recognizable architectural feats. Standing before this amazing domed structure, you couldn’t help feeling utterly in awe. We arrived right after the call for prayer had begun; 4 large pillars with speakers attached blasted a song/chant from the Qu’aran, and people came and removed their socks and shoes to do the ritual cleansing of hands, feet and body before entering the mosque for prayer.

After visiting the Blue Mosque, we set off on a quest for lunch. We attempted to discreetly peruse menus, but the Turkish shop owners were too quick for us. If you so much as glanced in their restaurants direction for a quarter of a second, they were out on the street trying to entice you to eat at their place. Even if you decided against it, they would quick draw their business card, hoping you would come back later (result: pockets stuffed with at least 20 or so cards from various vendors). At last we decided on a decently priced kebab place and for approximately
$8 USD each feasted on fresh baked flat bread, pita bread, beef and chicken kebab, salad, rice, baklava for dessert, and of course (for me) some Coca light. Simply delicious.

Fueled up, we set off for the Grand Bazaar, the gi-normous aggregation of nearly every type of shop selling anything you could possibly want…if the price is right (and you have to haggle to get that price). Entering the Grand Bazaar was a wonderful assault on the senses; the smells of fresh cooking, the sounds of the haggling and cat calling, trying to attract potential customers (we were variably, “Spice Girls” or “Charlie’s Angels”), and the sight of every type of knock-off luxury good, necklace, carpet, tapestry……..the list goes on and on. Like with the restaurants, the millisecond you threw a coup d’oeil (quick look, gotta throw some French in here somewhere), the stall owner was out there trying to, often very aggressively, court you into buying their merchandise. Julie learned this the hard way after looking at a potentially nice Puma knock-off sweat suit, having the owner open if for her only to realize it was utter fake crap, then spending the next 20 minutes trying to find a way to semi-politely let him know she wasn’t interested. Needless to say, that was the last time we tried to be polite. All future encounters were just, “NO,” or “I don’t want it. Later? NO, not EVER.” You really had to be that direct or you would never move 20 feet in there.

The second highlight was the Egyptian spice bazaar, even more of a glorious assault on the olfactory senses. Store fronts selling dozens of varieties of the infamous Turkish delight, tea, spices, baklava, and other random edible knick knacks (my personal favorite, in every stall, was an odd walnut looking concoction claiming to be “Turkish Viagra!”) And of course, being the Spice Girls/Charlie’s Angels, we were invited in by many a shop owner for a the Turkish staple, Apple Tea, and to sample as many Turkish delights as our pop-singing/crime-fighting hearts desired.

On the way back to the hostel, we somehow got completely turned around, thinking we were headed in the right direction, but realized we weren’t when we (finally) found someone who spoke enough English to tell us we needed to head a kilometer in the opposite direction just to get back on track! In this ethnic neighborhood we stuck out like a sore thumb; 3 fair skinned girls in brightly colored pashminas contrasted against the Turkish men in dark coats who were out and about roaming the quarter. We hardly saw any women, and many bars playing football games with 50 or so men begged the question, “what do you think would happen if we just walked in and sat down?” However, throughout this little diversion into the more “authentic” side of Istanbul I never once felt in danger. In fact, everyone we encountered on this trip was extremely helpful and friendly; in this situation, a man with a limp named Mufizer walked us the kilometer back in the right direction, and even offered to carry our bags!

That night we had another amazing “authentic” Turkish experience. En route to our hostel, we stopped in a gift shop, and ended up chatting with the owner, Atilla, for a good 45 minutes. He offered to take us out for some drinks and live Turkish music, and of course we accepted. Unfortunately the live music didn’t pan out, but we ended up at this amazingly orientally decorated restaurant, and sipped raki, the infamous Turkish liquor, and appetizers (fruit, cheese, chips, nuts, soy beans) that are meant to help the “lion’s milk (raki, called this because of the milky white color it gets when mixed with water, the only sane was to drink it)” go down smoother. Atilla and his friend showed us some traditional Turkish dancing, and we had a spontaneous Turkish dance party right in the middle of the restaurant. After drinks, they took us to a club/discotheque in Taksim the “Time’s Square” of Istanbul, where we danced to Turkish pop until 3 am.

We finally got to the hostel by 4:30, and passed out from exhaustion and raki. Not too shabby for our first day, I’d say. More to come………..

Monday, February 05, 2007

Half a year in review




Sing to the tune of happy birthday, avec un accent français:

Joyeuse anniversaire (à moi)
Joyeuse anniversaire
Joyeuse anniversaire (à moi)
Joyeuse anniversaire.

I’m still a smidgeon less than 6 months away from turning the big 2-3, and technically the tune Joyeuse anniversaire is to be sung on your date de naissance. However on this occasion, I feel it is equally appropriate (especially for us Anglophones, gotta love those false cognates) to sing to myself on my 6 month anniversary of being an au pair.

6 months ago on a steamy august day, I packed up my life, hopped aboard a British Airways 747, had too much to drink and too many Ambien, and embarked upon my life à Genève. Looking back today, I’m slightly amazed that things have turned out as well as they did. This especially considering the first thing Michelle ever said to me (and now a constantly running joke between the two of us) was, “Have you been drinking?” She later admitted she was concerned I was an alcoholic, yet had failed to mention it in my au pair ad and previous communications to her.

Arriving at my new “home” for the first time felt like the twilight zone. I came in, took a nap, and woke up several hours later to a throng of people buzzing about in the kitchen and dining room. I met Marc’s business partner, and nearly missed making a complete ass of myself going in the wrong way to faire la bise. But hey, what employer doesn’t want an au pair who is willing to make out with their friends the first time they meet?

The first meal, cooked and served by Flora (another first, I had not yet encountered the delicate tap dance that is modern day servitude) was stir-fried veggies with tofu and rice, something I salivate over and highly anticipate now, but that first night could barely even stomach one grain.

The first weekend, where I was awoken early for a trip up to Chamonix, where they would be looking at chalets to possibly buy, was riddled with folly. I dressed for august, in a skirt and t-shirt, yet the French Alps seemed to disagree, insisting it was November. My bare legs and arms froze through a cold drizzle, trying to negotiate steep hills and sliding rocks in flip-flops while I awkwardly held Benji’s hand, trying to pretend like we were already best friends, secretly wanting to cry for my mommy.

The whole first month of august, being with the kids 12, 13 sometimes 14 hrs a day, often struggling to keep my eyes open as we colored on the hardwood playroom floor, and struggling even more to find ways to keep them entertained and the time passing at a decent clip. Talking amongst a group of au pairs about what we do when stuck alone with the children for extended periods of time, I divulged my own dirty little secret: during that never ending august where I was constantly with the kids, I took to hand washing every single pot, pan, dish, plate, fork, spoon or knife that had been even slightly used, in a sad attempt to eek out every minutiae of time I could possibly find for myself, before being slung back into the trenches of all consuming child entertainment.

August turned to September, and with that came the God given blessing of La Rentrée Scolaire (the fancy French name for back-to-school time.) This year, I finally understood that Staples commercial where the parents dance up and down the aisles, carelessly and joyfully slinging notebooks, binders and highlighters into their carts, while “It’s the Most Wonderul Time of the Year” blares in the background. I hope I never feel that way about my own kids, and feel very strongly that the adults in this commercial are actually au pairs, not parents. La Rentrée brought other au pair acquaintances and baptism into the vast au pair network that encompasses Geneva and its surrounding areaa. September brought me into contact with my peers, something I desperately needed after 30+ days of solitary child confinement.

September also brought me Julie, who lived 2 blocks away in Ann Arbor, yet never crossed my path until we both found ourselves au pairs in Switzerland, feeling isolated and desperately seeking outside human contact. I’ll never forget my scream of joy when I realized she was a fellow wolverine grad, someone who shared not only the au pair connection, but also a love of Michigan and all things Maize and Blue. Since then our friendship has grown; she is someone I feel like I can talk to about anything in the whole wide world. We read each others’ emails, and I feel I know her family and boyfriend (Hi Ann and David and Nate!), and that she knows mine. Her friendship is quite possibly the most cherished and precious thing I will “take back” with me after my year en Suisse has come to an end, and is someone who I am sure I will stay close with for the rest of my life (Je t’aime, mon amie!).

Into the groove of living abroad, my weeks revolve around taking care of the kids, running, relaxing and talking to friends and family at night. The weekends are for traveling, partying, and (fingers crossed for more snow!) snowboarding. The rhythm of work and play has set a good tune, one I’m hoping to be able to move to until the end of July. Now that 6 months and lots of uncertainty have passed, I’m hoping that it will be “all downhill from here.” I have lots to look forward to: Istanbul in February, snowboarding and a trip somewhere in March, Spain, Portugal and le Marathon de Paris in April, my dear friend Nicole visiting for a week in May for Eurotrip round 2 (possibly Croatia and Barcelona), and potentially Singapore with the family in July.

Reading this list back in my head get me incredibly pumped for the next 6 months of my life. Surely the porridge-making, bath giving, butt-wiping weeks may drag from time to time, but the weekend gems, nights with friends, and breath taking sights will make in all worth it.

Sitting at my computer with Julie, looking up tram schedules for her to get home, Michelle walks into my room to chat. Mid sentence, I realized I had forgot to tell her, as I have every 4th of the month like clockwork, “happy anniversary!” But for this special occasion, I leaped from my chair, made my way towards her, and engulfed her semi-shocked self in a bear hug. “HAPPY ANNIVERSARY,” I exclaimed. “For what?” she replied as she always does. Grinning like a fool, I looked at her and waited to see if she would remember and catch on.

“Meggie, are you DRUNK?” She questioned, straining to keep a straight face.

Of course she remembered. I can already tell the next 6 months are gonna fly.