Travelin' North, Travelin' North to Find You...

How is it possible that I have abandoned my real-time documentation of my Turkish life for so very long?! I apologize to those followers who hang on my every word...the suspense must have been killing you, wondering about my absence. Ok, I doubt that's the case, but take this more as an apology to myself for abandoning a project I had so willfully intended to maintain. 

I suppose my next few posts will be in reverse, then, traveling backwards (and sometimes forwards again) from today to the past five months or so (gasp!). Let's begin...

Very very very early this morning (to me, 1:00 am still counts as "the night before"--semantics schemantics), I was dutifully dropped at the bus station to board the red-eye bus to my beloved Istanbul. For those unfamiliar with Turkish travel, I'd venture to say a good majority of it is via bus. We 'mericans often snub our noses at bus travel (except the few of us brave souls who appreciate NY-DC Chinatown busses!), as being a dirty, inconvenient and slow mode of transport (and yes, sometimes Chinatown busses are all of the above). However, in Turkey, buses are quite luxurious, and at times even more comfortable than airlines. Today is a perfect example of that. The Ankara to Istanbul route is 6 hours, including one 30 minute stop at a strategically located "bus mall" (my invented word...maybe it's correct, maybe not). 

Seating on the busses is assigned most often according to gender--so there are no worries about the occasional pervert copping a feel (or three) on a long journey and being trapped next to him (or her, I suppose) for the next howevermany hours. I was fortunate enough to be seated (very comfortably--plenty of leg room) next to a very very kind lady from Trabzon named Alemtac (a beautiful name meaning "crown of flames"). We developed as much of a friendship as one can make over a six hour journey, which unfortunately meant very little shut-eye for me. On the other hand, I loved hearing her stories so much that I didn't mind. We laughed about the amount of garbage we had amassed on the table in front of us from cups of coffee and snacks and breakfast (yes, breakfast!) that was served. (Side note: the most adorable part of the breakfast for me was the miniature package of three green and three black olives vacuum sealed in a jelly-size packet--PRECIOUS!) 

Knowing from previous trans-Turkey bus trips that some "bus malls" aren't always perfectly maintained (though most are), I was prepared with my own toiletpaper, hand sanitizer, and small change to pay for the use of the toilet, which sometimes is NOT alafranga style, rather alaturka style--meaning you exercise those thigh muscles and squat over a hole. I was amazed to enter the bus mall to find an uber modern, shopping mall-esque building, and a spacious, spectacularly clean restroom--much cleaner than some malls in the United States--and entirely non-squatting toilets. Victory! I had also packed a disposable travel toothbrush, but stood corrected when I saw a vending machine in the restroom where I could buy one for just one lira. 

I suppose I should have included the following song lyrics in a post about my most recent trip to Istanbul, but it would be inaccurate, seeing that I discovered this cute masterpiece the last time I was here. In spite of my accolades to bus travel, when traveling to Istanbul from Ankara, I prefer the train. I prefer train travel over any other mode in general, but specifically that route (more to come in another post). Anyway, this song, performed by Feist and Ben Gibbard, is more appropriate for train travel, but the fact that I see this song as being a love song from me to my Istanbul, I have made it my anthem for my journeys here. Obviously it's a person-to-person love song, but in my case, I dedicate it to my favorite city.

Travelling north, travelling north to find you
Train wheels beating, the wind in my eyes
Don't even know what I'll find when I get to you
Call out your name love, don't be surprised

It's so many miles and so long since I've left you
Don't even know what I'll find when I get to you
But suddenly now, I know where I belong
It's many hundred miles and it won't be long

Nothing at all, in my head, to say to you
Only the beat of the train I'm on
Nothing I've learned all my life on the way to you
One day our love was over and gone

It's so many miles and so long since I've met you
Don't even know what I'll say when I get to you
But suddenly now, I know where I belong
It's many hundred miles and it won't be long

What will I do if there's someone there with you
Maybe someone you've always known
How do I know I can come and give to you
Love with no warning and find you alone

It's so many miles and so long since I've met you
Don't even know what I'll find when I get to you
But suddenly now, I know where I belong
It's many hundred miles and it won't be long

It won't be long
It won't be long
It won't be long 

So here I sit for the past 1 ½ hours at my favorite café (after a short walk around my favorite neighborhood waiting for this very café to open). From here, I can see the end of the Tunel-Taksim tram as they change the tracks to switch directions. I can hear the multitude of Istanbul cats, mimicking the cries that they have learned from children. At this café, I can sit for hours…watching people, type type typing at my computer, surfing the internet, or on the rare and fortunate occasion, chatting with friends (or family!).

And I do plan to introduce another friend and her family to this café this weekend. The reason for this recent excursion to my favorite city is to briefly welcome a friend of mine from Washington and her family to Istanbul. I won’t be able to spend as much time with them, or with my city, as I would have preferred, but I have planned an entire itinerary for them that I hope they enjoy. I love introducing Turkey to people, showing them the small oddities about this crazy place that made me fall so in love with it. Before that itinerary begins, I plan on spending countless hours here at this café, and in this neighborhood, writing and researching…for my next project, which I hope to pour more dedication into and spend less time away from than I have with this blog. 

In Case of Emergency, My Husband Has the Same Blood Type

I'd venture to guess that 90% of Americans don't know their blood type. In the past, I used to giggle and snort at the fact that it was listed (alongside your religion, no less) on Turkish ID cards. Come to find out, not only is this info kinda important if, God forbid, you find yourself in an emergency situation, but also if you want to join a gym.

My birthday resolution (I like to give myself 10 more days to eat, drink and be merry AFTER the new year), was to take better care of myself by going to the gym. A friend of mine suggested that I go to the sports club run by the municipality, called the Hanimlar Lokali (The Ankara Women's Club). This place is kind of a women's center where you can acquire just about any skill set under the sun from step aerobics, to theatre, guitar and swimming...you can get your hair and make up done, check out a book from the library and play table tennis...all for $68/year. Compare that to a high-end gym around here, which will set you back about $3000/year and this seems like highway robbery. I've decided to carry out that crime and join the Ankara Hanimlar Lokali.

When I started to look at the list of requirements to join, though, I realized that there's another price I have to pay...getting myself stuck with a needle. At every single doctor's appointment in the past (this is NOT an exaggeration), I passed out. It goes exactly in this order: I sweat, turn as white as the nurse's jacket, I unconsciously hold my breath, and then comes the "helmet"--the invisible enclosure that starts to come over my head and block out all sound and eventually sight, followed by the kind nurse (that has been forewarned) resting me gently on the bench and giving me some form of sugar. Needless to say, I had a small anxiety attack when I walked into Guven Hastanesi today to have the requisite blood drawn and resolve my "kan grubu" mystery. I warned the nurse, who must have been half my age, of my trypanophobia, and she told me to look away and don't forget to breathe (a pretty good reminder for someone like me). She asked which arm was better, and I laughed, explaining that I have abnormally narrow veins and it doesn't matter which arm--she'd probably have to end up circling around attempting to poke something that would serve up the appropriate cc of blood in both arms in the end, as per usual. I inhaled, felt a small poke, and kept on breathing...soon enough, it was over! I didn't even break a sweat, nor were there the usual purple and blue works on my inner elbow! Cheers to the Guven Hastanesi nurse--you accomplished something no other nurse in the history of mankind has done! I decided then and there, in case of emergency, I choose Guven Hastanesi and if I need blood, ask my hubby...we adorably belong to the same "kan grubu".

I wasn't so hopeful when I went to the Saglik Ocagi (polyclinic-type thing). I will spare the gory details, but I was thankful I only had to go there to get a note from a doctor who simply had to look at me and sign a piece of paper saying I looked physically ok to participate in sports. I was kind of surprised at the operation of that clinic, and I'm not so secretly glad that I didn't have my blood drawn there. I know most people only go to such places for simple procedures...but I think I'll stick to having all procedures, simple or not, at Guven Hastanesi.

Lamb Kofte...SEASON'S EATINGS! :)

While I was making this recipe tonight, I couldn't stop repeating the lines from my favorite Saturday Night Live skit of all-time: http://www.ebaumsworld.com/video/watch/80460110/

Ingredients:

• 1/4 kilo ground lamb (about 1/2 a pound...if you can't find lamb, beef is ok, but lamb is uber delish)
• 1/4 grated white onion (keep the juice)
• 1 egg
• 2 cloves chopped garlic
• 1 C dried bread crumbs 
• 2 heaping T of cumin
• 1 1/2 T hot red pepper flakes
• 1/4 bunch fresh parsley, chopped
• 2 T Salt
• Generous dash of nutmeg

Prepare for Schweddy Lamb Balls! (Yes, I'm five years old...)

• Grate the onion over the meat so you can use the juice in the mixture as well
• Mix all the other ingredients in, and really get in there and massage the mixture with your hands
• Form into golfball size shapes and allow to sit in the fridge for about an hour
• Pre-heat your skillet to medium and use the back of a spatula to press the balls into flatter disk shapes (bye, bye, schweddy balls...)
• It usually only takes a couple of minutes on each side

You can top them with this delish yogurt dressing if your heart desires (and yes, my heart desires...):

• 2 c strained plain yogurt
• 2 chopped garlic cloves
• 2 1/2 T dill
• 1 1/2 T mint
• Generous dash of salt

Stir it all up, and again, let this set for at least an hour in the fridge so the garlic and other spices can really disperse.

Afiyet olsun!

Kemal Kofteci

I have a new neighborhood friend. I feel comfortable saying "friend" because, like saying, "I love you," you never want to be the first one to say it for fear of non-reciprocity.

However, Kemal Bey said it first, so we are officially friends. Yesterday was my big birthday (wheee), and I decided to treat myself to my favorite neighborhood dish: cig kofte. Mind you, this isn't the "true" cig kofte with raw meat, rather the veggie kind, which is equally delish. First, I must explain the joy of cig kofte. When ordering a "full order" (which costs the equivalent of $7 and feeds two people), you receive a generous amount of cig kofte (my guess would be about a kilo), a full head of iceberg lettuce, a full quartered lemon, some nar eksisi (pomegranate vinegar), and if you like (which I do like) a side of burn-off-all-tastbuds pepper paste. To consume this delicacy, tear off a leaf of lettuce, place one or two koftes inside, pour on some pepper paste, lemon juice and nar ekisi, wrap it up like you swaddle a baby and get that baby in your belly!

So on my birthday, instead of cake, I wanted cig kofte. I walked in to the tiny tiny tiny store that Kemal Bey runs, called Meshur Adiyaman Koftecisi (The Famous Koftemaker from Adiyaman). He knows my hubby and I well already, seeing as we frequent the place far too often for our own good. He also already knows that when either of us go alone, it's usually for a half-order, so he asks, "You'd like the usual?" I said, "Absolutely--this is my birthday treat to myself," to which Kemal Kofteci responds, "Then I will give you an abundance of kofte today and you won't pay--it's my birthday treat." Somehow the excitement of birthdayness and the prospect of eating cig kofte clouded my judgement. I should have known better than to mention my birthday. A guy like Kemal Bey (and many many other Turkish people in similar situations) would not even consider letting you pay on a special day like a birthday. I merely mentioned my birthday in hopes of complimenting Kemal Bey that I chose his place for my birthday treat for myself, not in hopes of getting free cig kofte.  I insisted, in a futile attempt to explain the reason I mentioned by birthday, that I should pay like any other customer, but was given the response, "If you set one coin on my counter, I don't want to see your face again." Pretty severe threat. Enjoying conversation with Kemal Bey and his cig kofte as much as I do, I humbly put my wallet back in my bag.

I wish more people were like Kemal Bey--sincere, generous and life-loving. Sometimes, his rapidfire Turkish comes at me faster than I can comprehend, and on the occasion that I do, I can barely get a word in to respond edgewise. But the gist of the majority of our conversation consists of how he hopes that God will never wipe the smile off my face; that he wishes for my health, my husband's health, my family's health, his family's health, and the grocer across the street's health; that people who abuse animals are just as likely to abuse people; that we should all step back from our religious beliefs for a second and see that what unites us is much greater than what divides us...that in the end, we all have one thing in common: we're human.

Thirty minutes had passed without my even looking at the clock once. He insisted that I should come back to drink coffee or tea with him sometime soon. I am confident that I will, because Kemal Bey is one reason that I know God keeps that smile on my face.

The Most "Shocking" Experience

So, I was about to sit down and write a really rad sequence for my yoga class tonight. I had gathered my books on the table, and was multi-tasking by fixing dinner at the same time. I removed the toaster plug (recipe for what I was making to follow) to plug in this very computer from which I'm writing. Suddenly: "SPAT!" with a bright flash of light and my heart in my throat. No fire (THANK EVERY LUCKY STAR...and spark), but of course I was suspicious. I immediately called the hubby, who remembered that there was an electrician down the street (gotta love our 'hood...), but first suggested I check with our kapici (doorman) who may have a good person to contact. Of course, the kapici wasn't home, but his daughter was, and she didn't know of one. I grabbed my bag and walked down the street to the very spot my hubby suggested to Mr. Elektrikci, and explained my problem (in my most awesome Turkish). He said he'd be there in 15 minutes. Unsure of whether that was a "Turkish 15 minutes" or a "real 15 minutes", I called the place I'm supposed to teach yoga tonight and we agreed to postpone the class. Less than 10 minutes later, the electrician was at my door with a flashlight, took one look at the outlet, flipped some switches, took apart the outlet, said there was no power, and soon enough, we were back in business. Sadly, they had already called my students to cancel the class (boooo), so no class tonight. On a happier note, all electrical outlets and appliances in the house are still working, and I had to pay only about $14 to rest assured of this fact. The sweetest thing was that just as the elektrici left, the daughter of the kapici knocked on my door to say she'd found the number of the electrician. I'm really lucky to live in the building I do...our neighbors are fantastic. I ran into my neighbor below us on my way back from finding the electrician, and he assured me that these electricians are good guys and they'd resolve the issue (check). I might also add that I am invited for tea on nearly a weekly basis just to socialize with my very sweet neighbors. Even more, to celebrate "Ashura" (which fell on the day after Christmas here this year), our kapici's wife delivered us a bowl of "Asure", in case I hadn't tried it before. I'm not a huge fan (I HAD in fact tried it), but the hubby enjoyed every last bite. I really am thankful for the awesome sense of "community" in Turkey. Too bad it's totally different when you're an anonymous pedestrian trying to cross the street...

Delishy Fishy

Those of you that know me, know me well enough to understand that I'm not a huge fan of anything that comes out of water (other than sea vegetables--seaweed and such). If I eat meat, I should be able to identify where the bones are, and it shouldn't require much effort to get the food from my plate to my belly: i.e. I like a good Nebraska steak. However, over the past year or so, thanks to the hubby figure, I have opened my mind, and literally, my mouth, to sea meats. That's right, I started eating fish! Granted, I stick to the muscley, meaty fish like salmon, swordfish and the likes, but dare I admit, I kinda like it!

This past weekend, we paid a second visit to Laterna on Tunus Caddesi here in Ankara. Of course I had a minor anxiety attack, thinking I'd be obliged to eat those slimy sea creatures like calamari, squid or octopus (IIIICKKK!). After all, Laterna is a Greek taverna serving cuisine primarily from the Aegean region. I was pleasantly surprised to be treated to a bountiful table of meze (this was a "Raki Sofrasi" night...) including liver (my fave), a seaweed assortment (yum-o), hellim salad (what I fondly refer to as my favorite "squeaky cheese"--hey, it squeaks when you chew it!), and much more. As the main course, we were treated to the fresh catch of the day, grilled levrek (sea bass), and my god, if my tastebuds could dance, I know would have been up on the table enjoying the ear candy from our friends Umit, Can and Kuddsi. I consumed far too much raki (anise flavored liquor) for my own well being, topped off by some champagne from a guy celebrating his engagement, and a nightcap of mastika and Turkish coffee. Not to be forgotten is the mysterious eggplant dessert (for which I was handed the recipe straight from the chef) and irmik tatlisi. Needless to say, for a good seven hours, my senses were delighted. I will definitely be visiting Laterna more often...perhaps even for my 30th birthday V1.1 celebration!

Afiyet olsun!

Bathing in History...

I'm sure my germophobe friends will really have a heyday with this one...

Seeing as public bathing was thrown out with the baby AND the bathwater (yes, I made a funny) an uber long time ago in the US, I have always appreciated the opportunity while in Turkey to get cleaner than I do in the privacy of my own home. When I lived in Istanbul, it really was a weekly ritual to visit the Cemberlitas Hamami (built in 1584, mind you). I would go in late on Friday nights, when noone else was around and have the entire, steamy, half-lit dome to myself. Yesterday was my first experience with an Ankara hamam, so of course I had no choice but to go to Ankara's oldest and best: the Karacabey Hamami. This hamam was built in 1440, out-aging Cemberlitas by a good 130 years, and in my estimation is just a tad smaller.

We started our bathing experience by changing into suitable bathing attire (swimsuits and such), which is a notable difference from Cemberlitas, where bathers and bathgivers alike freely roam, uninhibited by such cloth and confidently ignorant to cellulite. I presume the blissful ignorance to cellulite is the utter lack thereof--thanks to the long hours in the hamam, I learn. Men and women bathe separately here, but apparently there are still a few hamams that exist where that is not the case.

I take my towel, shampoo, kese (the rough, goathair washcloth thing) and my locker key into the first chamber which is steamy, but not terribly warm. The hamam is packed on a Saturday, so it's strictly one-way traffic through the narrow and low passages from one chamber to the next. My friend seems to know EVERYONE here, which makes me fondly remember all of the ladies from Cemberlitas who without judgement commented every ounce of fat that came or went from my body from week to week, and lovingly named me "Melek" (angel). While she's having her gossip, I begin in one of the small "rooms" off the main section. In these small closets there is running water and marble basins that you dip your little bowl into, in order to saturate yourself completely. This continues casually as we chat with our neighbors about who has had babies, what Behlul will do about Nihal on Ask-i Memnu, and cheery banter about saggy boobs and greying hair. Then, I was called to the gobek tasi, which is the huge, heated stone platform in the center of the room. With the natural light of the small glass openings in the ceiling floating onto my shoulders, I was ordered around to lie down, turn over, on your side, sit up, bend your knees, tilt your neck until I begin to see little rolling pins of dead, dirty skin curl up on my body from the lady who was scrubbing me with my kese. Then for the shocking part--SPLASH--right over my head comes a not-so-warm bucket of water to wash away all that nastiness. I return to my "closet" to continue the "bath" part, which is actually laying around again with my eyes half closed until I feel like sitting up and soaping up. After I wash my hair, we go out to sit in the cool room around the iron furnace, where most people are drinking tea and half watching a rerun of Ask-i Memnu, and I'm thankful for the affirmation that I'm not the only one who is addicted! A few minutes later, I'm called into the massage room (there is an option for oil massage or soap massage--I chose oil), and Fidan Hanim pushes with her elbows, fingers and wrists until the heavy-duty knots in my back start to unfurl. Fifteen minutes later, I retreat to the cooling room again to see if I had missed anything on Ask-i Memnu, only to find it was commercial time (not the 2 minute commercial break like in the US). I had time to run back to my locker, change my clothes, blowdry my hair and hang out a bit before the series came back on. By that time, my friend was ready, too, and we bundled up to brave the Ankara sleet, and she informed me that the hamam is has been rented by the same family for more than 50 years from a government foundation that owns it, and therefore, the renters don't pay for the water. A bathhouse where the owner doesn't pay for the water...sounds like they won't be throwing THAT baby out with the bathwater anytime soon!

Behlul kacar...

Lately I've been the kid sneaking into the kitchen at midnight to get a cookie from the cookie jar. Minus the fact that I'm not a kid, and my cookies, that forbidden food, is the Turkish "dizi" (TV series) "Ask-i Memnu"...and I'm not sneaking anymore. I'm an outright addict.

Ask-i Memnu (Forbidden Love) is based on a book written in the early 1900s by Halit Ziya Usakligil. The original book uses "old" Turkish, which sadly, few people can understand these days. (I heard there was a newer printing of it with the new Turkish words in parenthesis.) The character names are kept pretty much the same, as far as I understand, and it makes it really cool to hear uncommon names like Behlul, Bihter, Peyker, Besir, etc... The story, being a typical romantic drama, has a tangled plot, so I, not wanting to miss a beat, have been watching the series from Season 1, Episode 1. I'm on Episode 19 now, which is quite an accomplishment--Turkish "dizi" are much longer than American TV shows per episode, hitting the 90 minute spot, without commercials, I might add!

I won't torture the readers of this blog (like I do to my husband, who hasn't been sucked into this TV trap), by giving my personal "ozet" (summary) of the plot. Yet I do feel an inexplicable urge to share a little snippet about the character that everyone loves to hate: Behlul. I liken him to Sawyer on Lost (another TV fetish): handsome, suave and charming womanizer. You want to hate him, but part of you just knows that in spite of his hankering for hanky panky with the ladies, he is really looking for love. Also like Sawyer, he has created his on liturgy of nicknames and catchphrases, particularly for Nihal (his favorite is "suratsiz"which means "crabby"). My favorite is Behlul's trademark expression: "Behlul kacar"...

And for now, so do I. Allison kacar...

Turkish Style Pesto

Of course this recipe for pesto is really no different from other pestos, but I decided to call it "Turkish style" because I use a Turkish cheese instead of parmesan, and it turns out equally (I'd even venture to say MORE) delicious!

Pesto Parts:

• 2 bunches of fresh basil, washed and stems removed
• 1/4 c pine nuts
• 3-4 cloves garlic
• 1/4-1/3 c grated aged (eski) kasar cheese (if you can't find it, you can substitute parmesan here)
• 1 1/2 c olive oil
• Salt

Pesto Preparation:

• Place the basil, garlic and pine nuts in the food processor and pulse until smooth
• Pulse in the cheese
• While blending, add in the olive oil until smooth
• Add salt to taste 

I luuuhuuhhuuve pesto, and this was a treat to make. My favorite preparation of it is to stir into cooked pasta with chopped grape tomatoes and roasted pine nuts. Deeelish. 

Afiyet olsun!

A Very BabaZula Thanksgiving

Since most people eat Turkey on Thanksgiving, and I'm in Turkey (waka waka waka...oldest joke in the book), I did the natural thing and devoured the music of BabaZula at IF Performance Hall. If you don't know much about BabaZula, you should become familiar with their self-defined style of "oriental dub," which is a decently vague description. A beautiful, spellbinding mix of what I'll call "rock 'n Roma," with instruments ranging from the traditional (saz, davul, and wooden spoons) to the modern (drum machines and an electrified saz--natch). From their website:


Baba ZuLa go to great lengths to provide their fans with a unique live show experience. Their ritual like performances are a mixture of disciplines of art, often featuring belly dancers, elaborate costumes, poetry, theatre and live drawing, delivering viewers a tantalizing audio-visual feast.


On Thanksgiving, if you can't gorge yourself on Turkey, be thankful that you can indulge in the audio-visual feast that is BabaZula. It's far more enjoyable to be in a music trance than a food coma.

Cake of Mosaics (Mosaik Pasta)

Today the hubby craved two desserts, so I eagerly stepped up to the plate and made both. One was Irmik tatlisi (which wasn't exactly "homemade"), and the other was my supereasydeliciouslyawesome mosaic cake. Apparently it's an Italian thing, but I've had it at numerous Turkish households over the years.

Mosaic Malzemeleri:

• 1/2 c butter, melted
• 1/4 c cocoa 
• 1/4 c sugar
• 3/4 c powdered sugar
• 1 egg, beaten gently (don't be too rough on it!)
• 3/4 c milk
• 250-300 g (you're on your own to figure this measurement out...) of petit beurre biscuits, crushed (I know you can find them in the US...I just forget what they're called)

Mosaic Methodology:

• Melt the butter on low heat
• Pour the milk, beaten egg into a bowl and mix in the sugars
• Add the butter, then the cocoa until you have a creamy chocolatey delight
• Stir in the crushed petit beurre biscuits
• Take a sheet of aluminum foil on your counter and scoop the batter onto the foil, making a roll shape (cylinder)--like a thick rolling pin
• Wrap up the cylinder in the foil and place in the freezer for about 2-3 hours
• When you are ready to serve, slice into 1/2 inch thick slices and enjoy!

*Some people also enjoy crushed hazelnuts mixed in, too!

Afiyet olsun!

Please take a number...or not

I realized today, that the "take a number" systems at most post offices, banks, etc...are really really (emphasis on REALLY) important in this country. I witnessed firsthand today what happens when there's not.

I was at PTT (the postoffice-ish place, where you can also do a myriad of other things--pay your gas bill, etc...) sending a package. There are five kiosks at my PTT, three for non-postal related issues, and two for sending mail, packages, cargo. For the non-sending people, there is a handy electronic ticket distributor that signals with flashing lights that it's your turn to move to kiosk X. All moves generally smoothly. There is no such machine for postal-related requests--I'm guessing because every time I visit PTT, no one is sending anything. However, today, I was sending a package, and this nice gentleman behind the counter was helping me with the insurance and such. He leans over and asks the guy at the next counter something about my package, and the guy who had just walked up to that kiosk lost it. I mean LOST IT. He thought that they were paying too much attention to my needs as a customer, and he was apparently being ignored. A deadly (well, I was hoping not deadly...) silence fell upon the PTT, as the gentleman helping me and this other rowdy chap got into it at quite a significant decibel level. My nice kind helping guy started with something like, "Please sir, don't you see I was just asking my colleague a question about this nice lady's package, can you hold on for just one minute?" Apparently one minute was just too much for Mr. Rowdy Pants, and he started yelling and getting in the nice PTT guy's face...jumping over my shoulder. He reached into his pocket, and of course I was thinking "uh, am I going to be one of THOSE people who sees this all go down?" Thankfully, I wasn't and the guy was escorted outside by a very calm younger girl and business as normal resumed in the PTT.

This was the first time I'd really seen anything escalate to this level (which wasn't really even a "level", per se), but on numerous occasions, I've been cut off while standing in what I thought was a line. I've learned to be more aggressive, for sure. However, now I don't even see it as being aggressive. There is a certain ebb and flow here (albeit a bit more chaotic than what I'm used to), when it comes to being in a "line" and waiting for a service. There's an unspoken rule about who goes first and who comes next, and a certain confidence that is learned about when it's your turn. I'm feeling more and more sure of myself...especially when I can take a numbered ticket.

Su Boregi (Water Borek)

Though this borek has nothing to do with water, the name is literally translated as such. Maybe 'cause in real kitchens, they actually take the time to boil the dough...I'm here to give you cheaters a way out.

Ingredients:

• One package of phyllo dough (usually in the US you find it in the freezer section)
• 2 eggs
• 1/2 c vegetable oil (or sunflower oil)
• 1/2 c milk
• 1 c white cheese (feta cheese)
• 1/4 c yogurt, 1/4 c yogurt (once for the inside mix, and the other for the saucy stuff)
• 2 T dill (I used dried, fresh is even better)
• 1/2 bunch of fresh parsley (this pretty much has to be fresh)
• oil to grease the bottom of a 9x13 glass pan

How to:

• In one bowl, mix the white cheese, fresh parsley, 1/4 c of yogurt, and dill
• In a separate bowl, gently whisk the two eggs, and pour in the oil, milk and yogurt
• Grease the bottom of your 9x13 pan
• Lay down, one sheet at a time of the phyllo dough (you may need to keep it wrapped up in a moist towel to prevent it from drying out) to make one layer (you can fold them if necessary, but it's best to have just one sheet per layer), and using a pastry brush, spread on about 2 T of the egg mixture. Alternating mixture and phyllo, continue for about 4-5 layers. 
• Evenly distribute the cheese mixture and then continue alternating phyllo/egg mix until you have a few more layers on top, or run out of mix. Leave enough egg mix for the end to generously pour over the top
• Preheat the oven to 350 F and cook for approximately 25-30 minutes. 

Afiyet olsun!

The Hot New Trend in Pizza Fashion

That's right, all you pizza fashion police, I'm on it. The latest trend to emerge in pizza fashion...the "hotdog in the crust" pizza! The most awesome and awkward thing I've seen in a while, I couldn't resist sharing this. (Literally, the words translate to: "the latest trend in pizza"...you can't make this stuff up).

Tailor Town

I just picked up three skirts that I had dropped off at my local tailor (actually I don't even know who to consider my "local" tailor...there are at least 4 within a 5 minute walk of my house). If you didn't already know, Turkey is notorious for cheap and excellent tailoring. I had three skirts that I needed to have taken in (hurray for losing weight), and I dropped them off with a bit of skepticism, as they are VERY cool and unique skirts that can't be replaced (one I got at DC's "Crafty Bastards" art festival, the other two from my favorite online shop, www.boden.co.uk). I paid a measly amount of money to have them repaired (at the current conversion rate $30 USD), and they turned out pretty well. I was a little disappointed that even though Mr. Tailor promised that he wouldn't take some of the artistry off the sides of the skirts, he did, but the tailoring was impeccable.

The reason I was disappointed was that the skirt had 99 red balloons, hand stitched on navy wool. Now if you're a child of the 80's, you're familiar with the German (and English version) of the song 99 Red Balloons, a kind of Cold War "protest" song. Most people don't know the lyrics, and fancily dance along to this fun pop song. However, the words are quite true and universal about the ways our countries (not just the US) can instigate fighting on false pretenses. The song (essentially--both German and English) is about kids playing with red balloons that get released into the sky, and the balloons being mistaken for UFOs or missiles, inciting military panic. The "other" fires, only to realize it's merely a toy red balloon.

80's pop music references aside, my skirt now has something like 94 1/2 balloons... with superb tailoring on the inside.