Turks, in general:
From the first night (and even before, just hearing my professor speak), some of the stereotypes that I'd had proved to be true. (I know that most of you probably don't have any Turkish stereotypes, but that's okay; at least you know where Turkey is.)
The Turks are a very proud people who are adamant about their Ottoman heritage and Atatürk. The first or second night in the dorms, Havva explained to me (in Turkish) that she, like all Turks, would die for Atatürk and the Turkish republic (pointing to the picture of the flag that was then my computer background).
Like what you see of the Greeks in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, they assert that all good things are Turkish, an assertion that they defend by stating that the Ottoman Empire stretched from the Indus River Valley to the Straits of Gibraltar, from modern-day Poland down through Egypt to beyond the Red Sea into the Indian Ocean. All of this is, to their credit, true, but of course we learn nothing of it in any primary or secondary school history classes. This assertion is at times, obviously, very amusing. The Turks are also a very kind, good-natured, hospitable people for the most part, which will throw some Americans off-guard. On occasion, though, those Turks with more in their history as swindling merchants will use this kindness to lure people into a false sense of security and then scam them.
The taxi drivers are utterly insane, and people here tend to drive with little regard for pedestrians. To cross the street sometimes, though, you have to walk out into traffic very slowly and keep moving at the same pace, nomatter what. Cars beep here for everything that you can image: get out of my way, I don't see anyone but I'm coming so get out of my way, get into my cab, thank you, what the hell are you doing, you look pretty... When they parallel park, they leave a ridiculously large amount of space between cars. Like Spain, and I'm assuming most of Europe, everyone drives stick, even the huge passenger buses that we rode. The cars here in İstanbul were not so small. The road signs were pictoral, id et, where we would have a 'NO PASSING ZONE' sign because 'everyone in America should speak American, I mean English,' there would be a picture of two cars next to each other with the one on the left crossed out. The stop signs (same colour and shape) say 'DUR,' however, which I liked, because the ones in Spain said 'STOP,' and that was stupid.
From what I gather, the pervasiveness of clicking one's tongue as one looks up to indicate 'no' is not as widespread as I'd imagined it would be, and I think that I was understood when I accidentally did the Western head signal for 'no.' I did see Dilek one night, though, protest having her picture taken and signalling in this manner.
Yes, the men stare, but it's not like you'd think. The men in America stare, too. I showed Gözde some shirts that I had (spaghetti-strap and similar) and explained that this is acceptable wear in America. 'Don't the men stare?' 'Well, yes, but it's not really a big deal.' Burak's friend also commented at one point how men will call out car windows to women. In Ankara, no one looks. In İstanbul, some people will accidentally turn their head back. In America, the women will either solicit the men right back or scream obscenities.
This made me realise that it's not the men who are different here, but the women. Women do dress more modestly, and you notice it, but we were comfortable eventually wearing those spaghetti-strapped shirts. Women do cover their heads, although it's illegal in federal buildings (post offices, official spaces, universities) because Turkey is a secular nation (see Atatürk's reforms). And tourists will wear the burqa.
The first night in Turkey, Gözde asked if I would like the door open, even though there would be bugs. I learned the word for insect. When we were out at the mall another night with Dilek, Gözde commented how 'there are so many more Arabs here than Turks!' She then giggled and said, 'İnci! Böcek [insect]' as she pointed to a woman in a burqa (Burak also referenced them as ninjas). She found it just as odd, if not more so, than I did. All in all, I found that the Turkish women, because they are more modest, provided the stereotype for Turkish men, although those men in the leather district were pretty cat-call-y...
For some reason, everyone has two cell phones. Some people have a business and a family, some girls have a social and a family, and who knows what everyone else does. We decided that cell phones could be for: business, family, friends, significant others, one-night stands, men who asked for a number and you needed something with an automated message to give them, anything. Who knows? Far more people than should, however, have that cell phone ring that is stereotypically ridiculous: da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da-daa... like the sketch with the giant cell phone in Trigger Happy TV. It got really annoying.
There are stray cats and dogs absolutely everywhere, which hocam asserted was to control the rat population, and Boston wouldn't be known for its rat problem (?) if it would allow stray cats. She absolutely would not hear the spay/neuter argument from a few people who offered it. I'd rather not have mangy mutts trying to make friends, thank you.
As for religion, I had the unique opportunity to become pretty close friends with two Turks and to hear their perspectives. Gözde explained a few things about the east of Turkey, roughly Anatolia. As I compared it with the American south, she explained how they all speak differently and incorrectly there and it sounds funny, they're not as educated as the west, they're poor, and they're willing to be won over by horrible politicians for one reason or another (theirs promised the poor food and water, ours promised cultural hegemony and religious imposition...same difference). She said, speaking of their current president, whom no one likes, 'They are stupid. They haven't mind. Because they are so poor. And he, um, he given food and money for the people who lived in the east, and they are so poor people, and he give money and food for them, and so they vote for him. They didn't use their minds.' Don't worry, no one ever does... She said how conservative Muslims 'think that we are not religious because we pray like this (she opened both of her hands palms-up) and not like this (she made a bowing to the floor motion) and because we are Western, but I am still a Muslim.' Damn straight, Gözde. Don't let crazy conservatives tell you what to do, dear. Burak was raised Muslim a bit, I think, but he broke out of those shackles. As we walked by Sultanahmet Camii, he in a tee-shirt and jeans and I in my green dress (I couldn't help but stare defiantly at the women who stared at me, my sides and back bare, by low-cut halter dress swishing at the bottom around my knees, thinking, 'Welcome to your antithesis') he asked, 'Why would I want seventy-two virgins? That is foocking bullshit! What if I am lesbian? What if I am gay? What will I do? I think they live in desert like this, they imagine what they do not have--water, gardens, flowers, trees--and say you get that.' He found silly stories made up by people who can't prove anything just as amusing as I do.
I told him that I'd still take seventy-two virgins.
Here in the coastal town of Fethiye, I don't know what I'll see as far as Turkey is concerned. I know that Ryan and I totally lucked out (okay, totally are appreciating my elaborate research into pensions) as far as our hostel is concerned. We spent some time reading the reference books on one of the tables in the garden/lobby, and it's filled with brochures and tours, warnings not to book anything without talking to Tuna (co-owner) because he can get you discounts, notes of thanks from other hostel-stayers about how great Monica and Tuna are and how never ever to stay at Ideal Pension or some other with an 'a,' all sorts of things as mentioned earlier. We could tell that we had definitely found a nice place, and were lucky to have it at our disposal. I can't wait...!
One funny thing, too, is that, for some reason, everyone assumes that I'm Russian. We were even greeted in Russian at dinner the other night, and then we received an apology with that explanation. Only little Emre could guess that I was from those Isles, but more often than now the square face, tall thinness, and wavy hair suggests that cold, expansive country. One better part, though, is that everyone thinks that Ryan is Turkish, and this, coupled with my speaking, had gotten into some pretty funny instances. One staff at the resort asked me, in Turkish, if Ryan was Turkish, because he looked a little confused with the conversation, and I laughed, 'Hayır!' I decided that Ryan can be the Turk and I can be the Russian bride that was kidnapped in the lucrative sex trade across the Black Sea to İstanbul...only, I think that we're too young.
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