deneyimler

This is how I originally imagined Turkey:

-One week of Turkish classes. Become comfortable enough to converse basically with people.

-One week of orientation. Learn the city, and see all the cool places.

-Begin classes, probably six architecture courses and one history.

This is what actually happened.

-Attend Turkish class for two days. Learn we have class on Saturday.

-Attend Turkish class for another two days. Learn we have two, not one, weeks of Turkish class. Can say "They are not buying apples," but not "please" or "thank you."

-Finish two weeks of Turkish class. Can say "He will take his cat to Ismir on holiday," but not "please" or "thank you."

-Spent only an hour at the Grand Bazaar. The phrase I heard most from the group I was with was: "Oh. It all looks the same."

-Received my Turkish proficiency certificate the day classes began, before I had met with my advisor (and not because I didn't try) slash scheduled for classes. Actually, not really sure when clasess began.

-Met my advisor Wednesday (yesterday) and discussed classes. I received a handwritten, complete list of architecture courses in English. There were five. Even though it appeared classes had begun Monday, everything she said indicated they didn't start until next week. She wouldn't even give me a straight answer when I asked: "When do classes start? This week or next week?"

I then asked the head of the Exchange Program the same question. His answer: "Well, it depends on the department. Some start this week, others start next week."

While it's incredible--theoretically--being here, it's things like this that are driving me crazy. Yes, I understand it's an adventure, but this is a university, and the departments don't even communicate with each other when it comes to basic things like what courses are offered (that's another story entirely dealing with a different department and the official website that I don't want to touch at the moment). All in all, I have spent most of this week trying to not get too worked up over potentially missing classes (typical justification: I don't know (1) if they exist, (2) if I'm in them, (3) when they are, and (4) where they are).

m.

Mimarlık

I've studied Islamic architecture a bit, and it always begins and ends with the Ayasofya (Hagia Sophia in Turkish). There are some others here and there--the Blue Mosque usually gets a mention, along with a few mosques in India--but it's the Ayasofya that gets the time.

And I was there. Like, standing under the dome that almost seemed like it was floating.

There's something...removing about being somewhere with so much history built into it. It seems painfully cliched to say it's like stepping outside of time, or into history, or that it's one of the still points in the turing world. So I won't.

It actually didn't seem like any of that. It did make me feel small, though, like much of my favorite architecture does. It reminded me a lot of the city.

Patient. It's so old, and it's seen so much go by that nothing really bothers it anymore.

It's just there, and content. Not that it doesn't change bit by bit over time, though--but that's all a part of growing up.

The Ayasofya knows who and what she is, and is thoroughly content with it, and won't try to become something she's not.

Even though architecture courses focus on the Ayasofya, the Sultanahmet Camii (Blue Mosque) is the one that really got it right. The domes seem more etherial. Because of the stained glass in them, there's less light, but it's harder to tell where the windows end, so the floating effect is much more pronounced.

The stained glass also gives more color to the interior--although the tiles do plenty of that on their own. There's very much a sense of grandeur. It's like a cross--in architectural feeling--between a high gothic cathedral and a tiny coffeeshop.

You never forget it's a place of worship.

[Side Note. Dear stupid American and German tourists: Even if you aren't Muslim, you should respect them. One, you're a visitor to their country. Two, you're a tourist in their place of worship. Just wear the headscarf already!]

Like I said: you never forget it's a place to pray. From a design standpoint, I know some of the things that make a building aesthetically pleasing, but it's always striking and overwhelming to see it and stand in it.

The light from above lights everything equally, and the source is harder to find than a normal window. This gives it a silent interior, no matter what's being said (or not). The art (all script and flowers) is everywhere, but it isn't overwhelming and adds almost a home-y feeling (no disrespect meant). It feels like a place to meet with God.

Gothic churches are for being awed by God's mystery and power. Today's churches are about meeting Him in your heart. The Sultanahmet Camii seems like a place you sit down (on the carpet cross-legged) next to Him and say "merhaba"/"hello" and just...be quiet with him, and let the silence be enough. A place to be still.

m.

Being a post on nothing but transportation.

People say that the farther east you go, the more aggressive the drivers get. While I believe it is typically limited to the United States, it would be true even past the Atlantic...right on to Istanbul. I have encountered crazy drivers before in China, but there everyone just drives fast. Here, they not only drive fast, but they drive on sidewalks, stop inches from the cars in front of them (no exaggeration, there are some cars I can't walk between), and, oh yeah, there are no lines on the road...because there don't need to be. The roads are like the sidewalks. If there's a place to squeeze in, they will. An exit that would be two lanes at home here has four cars across and the front end of a fifth (they utilize the six-inch shoulders, too).

This being said, it still takes forever to get anywhere. My definition of "far" has radically changed. It takes me an hour to get to class everyday and the Metro is underground and the MetroBus has its own lane. Two days ago, we had the option of going (by chartered bus) to the Domaloahce Palace (which closed just as we got there), and it took over an hour and half. We did an awful lot of sitting (that particular palace is about a 30-minute walk from my flat).

Istanbul is, surprisingly, a walking-friendly city. From what I've seen, anywhere you can drive you can also walk. Including the medians of highways.

Yes. I'm serious.

I've done it.

What I find completely fascinating is it's easier to walk in the streets than it is on the sidewalks. There are three reasons, I've noticed, each well illustrated by my three different daily walks.

My flat is on a small street that parallels a larger one. The street itself is wide enough for two cars: one parked row and one driving. The sidewalks are wide enough for two abreast, but that's without the obstacles. Each block has metal trapdoors, and each one is raised, and they all clank (loudly) when you step on them. The curb is is tiny wall, and it will cut into the sidewalk if there's some kind of obstacle--like a grate--in the road. About a sixth of the bricks are loose or cracked, and half of the secure ones aren't level with each other. The steps from flats spill onto the walk.

It's easier to just walk in the street.

The second (walking) leg of my journey (pun not intended, but kept in honor of Mr. Cairns) takes me from the Metro to the MetroBus. The bricks are in much better shape, but there are light or signposts every 10-20 feet. There are also a massive number of people traveling to or from the Metro and the sidewalk's not big enough to accommodate them all (some days, it feels like I see half of Istanbul's 15 million residents). Therefore, in the morning (when the street's on my right), it's simpler--and faster--to walk next to the curb.

I would also like to add that I am not the only person doing this. If I am breaking any laws, I'm one of about 2 million.

Coming home is wonderful, because I get to walk on the sidewalk, since the road is on my left. Although there are people who still walk in the road.

After riding the MetroBus, it's only a short walk to IKU. It's not terribly busy, and the sidewalks can support 4-5 abreast, but the curbs are more like cliffs. As in: knee high. There are some places where I have to use the sidewalk, but if I can walk next to them instead of on the, I will. I wasn't planning on doing any mountain climbing while here.

After nine months of this (it's getting more and more natural each day), I wonder what it will be like at home. It's easier to walk in the streets here, but it's also safe because the drivers know there will be people there, and they look out for them. They may get closer than most American drivers (or walkers) are comfortable with, but unless you change your pace or do something stupid, they won't hit you. Speaking as a west coast driver, I/we are not comfortable with people in the road. Even if they're legally crossing. Something tells me sliding through traffic will be slightly difficult when I get home.

I'd like to say that the first horn I hear will break me, but I'm already pretty dead to them. People here are honk-crazy. Sometimes it's good: they honk if they're approaching a blind intersection (usually small streets with cars parked haphazardly and hood in the intersection) to let walkers know they're coming, but busy streets, depending on the time of day, sound similar to what Ira Glass might compose if he could only use horns.

m.

Burda yaşıyorum, beğeniyorum.

Merhaba, Türkiye. Sen güzel, büyük, eski ve yeni, şahane, ve şimdi ve oluyorum. Durmuyorum.

Don't worry, that's pretty much the extent of the Turkish I can use in this post. I'm just singing the praises of Istanbul.

I like it here. Quite a bit.

So, I suppose I should do some general catching up. It's now Thursday afternoon, and I have about two hours left of my intensive class. Although it's run by IKU, not everyone taking the language course will be studying here. Many, if not most, will be at the Technical University for the semester. I would guess there are about eighty students in total from all over--Spain, Germany, Estonia, and Slovakia, to name a few.

Grant (the other Coe student; his blog is here if you care for more stories) and I are the only Americans here. So far, that hasn't been too much of a deal, since none of us can communicate very well when we get out into the city.

A quick geography lesson, since Istanbul is nearly indescribable if you don't know:

The city is divided into three parts, all separated by water: the New District, Old District, and Asian side. Both the Old and New Districts are on the European side, which is separated from Asia by the Bosporus (running roughly north/south). The European side is divided by the Golden Horn (running east/west) into the Old (south) and New (north) Districts.

The Old District is where most of the tourist-y things are, like the Aya Sophia and Grand Bazaar. If you get out farther, you eventually run into the airport. Most people live on the Asian side, and the New District is where, I think, a lot of the day-to-day cultural things happen.

My flat is in the New District (Şişli, to be more precise), not to far from Taksim Square. IKU, however, is near the airport, so it takes me an hour to get to school every day.

I walk to the nearest Metro stop (like the Parisian Metro or the London Underground); it takes about 15 minutes from the time I leave my door until I get on the Metro.

I then go one stop to Mediyoköy and walk to the relinquish-your-personal-bubble-MetroBus (another 15 min), which takes me over the Golden Horn and, 25 minutes later, delivers me a five-minute walk from campus.

I feel like I can barely call myself an architecture student now, since I have been here for five days and have not yet seen the Aya Sophia. I'd say I'm going exploring this weekend, but we have class Saturday and Sunday (I feel rather sick just saying that). Honestly, though, my first stop will be the Egyptian (Spice) Market. I refuse to eat bland food for nine months, which is what I'll be doing if I don't go.

There's plenty to do near my flat, though. We're close to Taksim, which has a lot of restaurants and pubs and shops. There's also a book market. I found it after I'd spent 8.5 hours walking in unsuitable shoes (I wasn't planning on being out for that long), so I didn't browse. I also don't know enough Turkish to make it worth it, at least right now.

Besides, I haven't finished Les Mis yet.

There's also a street running parallel to mine that has a number of grocers and bakeries and tiny shops. I'm still trying to get the hang of shopping here. Not only can I not understand much, everything is separate: bakery, dairy, fresh fruits and vegetables, and fish shops (fresh-still-staring-at-you fish). I have yet to find a butcher, and the grocery (the kind that we're a bit more used to) doesn't have much beyond spreadable meat, which doesn't count.

The bread, though.

The bread.

Fresh bread everyday for two to five lira. I can smell it every morning. There are also rings of bread covered in sesame seeds that are wonderful, available three times on every corner for only a few lira.

And the cheese.

Grocery store cheese is supposed to be average, right? And if it comes in a tin, it's not very good.

Hah.

I got a tub (seriously: it's a tin tub that must weigh close to five ponds) of mozzarella, and it's some of the best I think I've ever had. It's painfully difficult to show restraint.

I've also not been very good about taking photos (I'm using school as an excuse), but I should be putting some up soon. And if you're really desperate, Grant has some up on his blog.

m.

Gusses

I suppose what makes all of this so strange--and all the more terrifying--is that, in a sense, I've done it before.

Okay, not exactly.

But in some ways, it's the same.

I go away every year to school--and in some ways, Iowa is a foreign country. Every year about this time, I leave most of what's familiar behind for four months.

Yeah. Sounds about right.

I guess this is the time when I'm supposed to say "it's official" or something along those lines, but it's been official for months now. I committed myself to this about 3.62 minutes after I first heard about it from Abby. So there isn't any of that; none of it would be fair to say. There's just excitement and terror.

My old high school, Tacoma School of the Arts (more affectionately and commonly known as SOTA), started classes this week, so I went back to see some of my old teachers. I think this may have something to do with overwhelming preemptive nostalgia I'm feeling. I miss SOTA. I know that's a strange thing to say about my high school, but it was a unique place. Today, I heard part of Savage's lecture on the link between mortality and moderation, Shepherd's class discussing the origins of the Greek gods, and sat in on Mary explaining six-word-autobiogaphys. Like I said, unique.

As much as I love Coe and as much of a new situation it's forced me into, I have to be honest: SOTA was first.

m.

Black Tie Beach

I think this speaks for itself.

m.

Patterns

There are a few things in my life I'm good at.

Okay, I like to believe there are more than a few things. But that's not the point.

I've always been a reader. I love the stories, but, in addition, I love words. Often, I've wondered if being good at spotting and/or developing patterns (another thing I'm not too shabby at), has something to do with the speed at which a person reads. Leaving behind my love of the stories, I'm a considerably fast reader, it seems like, and although I've never timed myself, I can move through a document faster than a number of people I know.

I once asked my mom--I don't remember what lead up to the question--if, when she read, she heard someone "reading" in her head. She said yes.

This has lead me to a new theory. When you read, your brain skips the smaller words and fills in the blanks. I think that the more patterns you recognize (the pattern of words within the sentence), the faster you become. Because you read (really read) fewer words, you have the ability to move faster through the text.

I also think it possible to read faster if you don't hear someone in your head.

Although I think this is a pretty good theory, I didn't have much to base it on until I came across something called "spreed." It's fascinating. They hold that you can become a faster reader simply by reading faster than your brain can read to you. To prove this, they feed you one word at a time (you have to tell it to) at 300 wpm, and then tell you to play around with it until you find a speed that seems comfortable. Although it can be harder to read a book like that (in part, because you don't get words fed to you one-by-one in a book), it gives you, I think, more confidence to read a document faster than you think you can.

It's not too bad for some impressive, if insane, bragging rights. For instance, I know I can read at least 600 wpm. I just...choose to leave out some of the minor details.

m.