Tel Aviv and Haifa

After a long and somewhat sleepless night on the floor of Sabiha Gocken airport in Istanbul, during which we were "kindly inwited" over the PA system to board several thousand planes, Kelly, Chris and I arrived in Tel Aviv. Unfortunately, my preparations for a border-crossing-worst-case-scenario ended up being necessary, Chris and I were detained at the border for intensive questioning due to our recent travels in Iraq. The security guards could not understand why someone who was not Muslim would have any interest in religious sites in Iraq, despite the fact that we visited primarily Yazidi (not Muslim) sites. As we sat under the fluorescent lighting, fellow travellers regaled us with horror stories of their previous trips, where they were detained for 3-5 hours each. Thinking of Kelly stressing on the other side of security, and nervously watching the hours before Shabbat (the Jewish day of rest, when public transport and most stores and restaurants close) tick away was not a super pleasant experience, but we were released relatively quickly and were able to get on our way only a couple hours off schedule.

Plodding through the sunny streets of Tel Aviv, weighted down by our rather large backpacks, we noticed a lot of rainbows and fabulous looking people. By a stroke of luck, we had arrived on the day of Tel Aviv's legendary gay pride parade. The colourful people and interesting street art provided a welcome distraction from the sweat dripping down our backs while we walked from hostel to hostel in a modern-day reenactment of Mary and Jo's search for accommodation in the holy land. Eventually we found a place downtown, very near the beach, who were willing (for an exorbitant price) to put us up in sun loungers on their rooftop. We spent our first evening in TV walking the beautiful beach front board walk, marvelling at the absurdly toned and tanned bodies of the locals running past or doing very public chin ups. It was really cool to see all the people who are or support gender and sexual minorities having such a good time as well. Due to several nights of no sleep, we opted out of the party, which judging by the stragglers heading home when I woke up with the sun in the morning, was quite something.

We spent our next couple days seeing what Tel Aviv has to offer (it wasn't enough time!). We relaxed on the beaches, which I think may house the softest sand in the world - it seriously feels like walking on pastry flour! We loved exploring the colourful streets, which offer amazing artistic viewing, both of the hipsters in their crazy outfits that blend western and middle eastern garb, and of the street art, which is everywhere and encompasses mediums from busking to graffiti to sculpture. We spent an afternoon exploring the Tel Aviv Museum of Art, which had an impressive collection of the masters with pieces by Van Gogh, Klimt, Picasso and Degas, some truly bizarre modern art (I may be an unrefined heathen, but it often left me confused - from the background Kelly cries "that's the point!!"), and my favourite, a very thought provoking exhibit by artist David Reeb, called "Let's Have Another War", featuring paintings and video pieces about the Israeli occupation of the Palestinian Territories. On our final day, we trekked out to the beautiful green campus of Tel Aviv University, which houses Beit Hatefutsoth, or the Museum on the Jewish Diaspora. It was well set up with interesting dioramas, but I felt that information was lacking; for example, the circumcision exhibit, which I was interested to understand more from a religious perspective, due to my strong belief that any body modification (particularly when it is done for non-medical reasons) should be done with the informed consent of the person concerned, said only "Jewish boys are circumcised on the 8th day of their life. It is a covenant with God." However, it was interesting to see the ways that Jewish culture and history throughout the diaspora are presented to visitors, and it was a noteworthy celebration of Judaism. For anyone visiting the campus or museum in future, the museum café's iced coffees are amazing, and I credit them with saving me from friendship-threatening heatstroke.

Last night we took a late bus to Haifa, where we made our way to a more distant beach and stumbled about in the dark looking for somewhere to pitch our tent. It turns out that our night vision leaves something to be desired, because although we were not arrested for illegal camping, we awoke on a dirty bit of beach next to a serious construction zone where people were working, casting us confused and unimpressed looks. Undeterred, we packed our bags and sought a hostel to store it for us.

Unfortunately, due to the security situation in Israel, that is not possible, and we had a solid day-long workout carrying our giant packs around. We descended several hundred stairs through the stunning Bahai Gardens, where the Bab, the leader of their faith, is buried in a golden domed temple. The world's youngest monotheistic religion, Baha'i faith centralizes around a belief in the equality and unity of all people, regardless of religion, gender, or nationality. The terraced gardens on the slope of Mt. Carmel, where Elijah the prophet lived and worked miracles, are a pilgrimage site, one of two that all Bahai must visit in their lives. Pilgrims must climb thousands of stairs that lead through the gardens, stopping to pray or meditate, signifying not only physical but spiritual elevation. The beautiful flowers, bushes, symmetry, fountains and location of the garden are breathtaking (it's not just the oppressive heat!) and we enjoyed the tour. This evening we made our way to Akko, which has a much more mixed population than Tel Aviv and the areas of Haifa that we visited. It's nice to see more of the diversity that Israel has to offer, and it is nice to hear the call to prayer, I was missing it. The adventure continues! And we will sleep well in our first beds in 4 nights.

Kurdish Hospitality Part I

3 weeks ago, Christopher and I went on a journey through South-Eastern Turkey and Iraq.  Here is the first chronicle of that adventure.

Upon arrival in Diyarbakir, Chris and I decided to do some exploring.  Right in the heartland of ancient Mesopotamia along the Tigris river, the city was founded in 1500 BC, and has because of its strategic location, has been home to a lot of conflict.  The city has changed hands from the Hurrians, the Urartu, Assyria, Persia, Alexander the Great, the Seleucids the Romans, the Arabs, and finally the Ottomans in 1515 (though there have been many wars since then as armies invaded from Anatolia, Persia and Syria).  Renowned across Turkey and even the world as a center of Kurdish identity and resistance (see the conflict [arguably genocide] in the 1980s), Diyarbakir is bustling and beautiful, and not very touristy.  Walking down the street from our hotel towards what used to be a tourism office, we found ourselves in a very local bazaar, built around a 12th-century mosque.  It was really fun to people watch, as the style of hijab is different here, and most of the older men cover themselves as well, as they twirl their prayer beads and frown at the younger generation’s exposed hair (I covered and was glad of it).  Since the building where the tourism office was supposed to be is now a crumbling ruin, we asked some locals for help, and upon a communication breakdown, they called their friend, who spoke fluent English and who gave us great directions.  After offering to show us around, which I declined, anticipating a scam, we were on our way, and successfully found the office of the bus company we were looking for.  The very kind, adamantly Kurdish gentlemen we spoke to booked us overnight bus tickets for Friday night to Suleymaniyah, in Iraq.  We’re really excited.  While we were figuring out the paperwork, their ordered lunch arrived, and we were offered no choice but to join them in sharing their meal.  We eventually pulled ourselves away, and made for the extensive basalt city walls (at ~6km long, second in length only to the Great Wall of China, and almost twice as high).  Diyarbakir is a proud and unapologetic place, and as we wandered along the walls we weren’t sure if the stares we were getting were motivated by curiosity or animosity.  After thoroughly turning ourselves around in the bazaar, we emerged, dazed and confused, into the sunlight, and were greeted by a middle-aged, kind faces gentleman with an exclamation “I think you are my Canadian friends!”  It was Sirac, the man from the earlier phone call, and he very excitedly offered us a cup of tea, which we accepted.  Moving through the winding streets, he seemed to know everyone, patting children on the head, greeting grumpy looking old men with contagious smiles, and eventually we arrived at his shop and were offered orange cay (it tasted a lot like hot orange crush), chatting the whole time about politics and the Kurdish struggle.  When he didn’t try to sell us anything, and declared that he wanted only to make us ambassadors of Kurdistan, we agreed to follow him around for a bit.  He brought us first to a lovely restaurant, where he showed us one of the only remaining signs of what used to be a thriving Jewish population, an ancient Star of David carved into the ceiling.  We then walked into one of the Diyarbakir House Museums, made of black basalt, which apparently keeps you cool in summer and warm in winter.  There were gorgeous stencils painted on the stone around the central courtyard, and rooms branching off of it for different seasons, with insulated winter rooms and partially underground, very breezy summer rooms.  We were then led to witness an experience I will never forget, the Denge Evi.  In a Kurdish seniors center, the Dengbe Evi is a tradition of storytelling through song and chanting.  Kurdish elders were sitting in a row on kilim couches at the front of a courtyard, with chairs arrayed in front of them where younger people and a few tourists were sitting.  These wizened old men, some of them in PKK guerrilla gear, take turns singing or chanting about pain, torture, violence, genocide, love, friendship and above all, freedom.  The melodies are hauntingly melancholic, and some of the singers were incredibly charismatic... I felt like I was under a spell at some points.  The elders who are listening to the chief singer join in with a hum when singers pause in their song, which we later learned was affirmation of their pain, a sign of commiseration and solidarity.  It was seriously beautiful, and one of my favorite Turkish experiences thusfar.  Afterwards, we visited an Armenian church, supposedly one of the largest in the world.  The archways were enormous, and in order to improve acoustics, ornately carved circles have been taken out of the columns, which would have made the traditional orchestra easy to hear from all sections of the church.  There was interesting documentation outside about the genocide of the Turkish Armenian population, and an Armenian gentlemen came to tell us a bit about the history of his people in Diyarbakir.  We then returned to Sirac’s shop, and poked around the (much more reasonably priced than Istanbul) handicrafts, eventually emerging with an amazing kilim pillow for the nook.  We returned to the restaurant with the Star of David on the ceiling, and enjoyed a traditional Kurdish dinner in the courtyard.  We finished our evening with a delicious Turkish coffee, in whose grinds Sirac was able to read our futures.  Our day in Diyarbakir was really amazing, and we will definitely return for more Kurdish hospitality one day.

The Battleground of Demigods and Heroes: Troy and Gallipoli Part Two

We had a quiet night in Eceabat after viewing the battlefields of Gallipoli. Many cups of delicious cay (Turkish tea) were consumed, and we discussed solutions to the Israel/Palestine conflict and the differences between the United States and Canada. Needless to say, I loved it.

The next morning, a few of the group headed out early to explore the town of Canakkale, on the opposite side of the narrows that open onto the Marmara Sea. This was a strategic point of defence for the Ottomans during WWI, and it is now one of the biggest cities on the northern Aegean coast. The ferry ride across from Eceabat was quite fun, we accidentally ignored the "crew only" signs and rode on the top deck where we were granted a view of both of the large fortresses protecting the Narrows. Our first stop in Canakkale was the military museum, which had an impressive yard full of WWI armaments: canons, mines, a submarine periscope, a German U-boat, and tanks. Predictably, there were several statues of Ataturk, my favourite of which involves him looking down benevolently with the dates 1881-infinity inscribed below. Unfortunately the fortress was closed for reconstruction, so we ventured through the town to the archaeology museum. It had many finds from Troy and other surrounding ruins including marble tombs, pottery, statues of Gods and Goddesses, and innumerable stone columns. Although very little of the signage was in English, it was really neat to see some of the archaeological remains from the area. We headed back to our hostel to rejoin our group, and after a delicious lunch provided by the hotel, we departed with our guide for Troy.

We had been warned that, unlike some other archaeological sites in the country, there isn't much to 'see' in Troy, because of extensive pillaging by treasure hunters, tourists and various museums, both Turkish and other (many of the finest finds from Troy are showcased in Britain and Germany). When we first arrived at the dig site, I was somewhat alarmed. Bus loads of tourists were swarming around an ostentatious and cheesy Trojan Horse, while a gift shop peddled its wares and men dressed in 'traditional' Greek armour pandered for expensive costumed photos. We took some obligatory photos with the horse and headed with what I can only describe as trepidation towards the ruin. However, once we cleared the tourists taking selfies, the true impact of the site came to light.

The site was first settled in 3000BC and abandoned in 500AD, and archaeologists have excavated nine different layers, meaning nine different cities were built on the site over the years. It was mind blowing to touch walls constructed up to 5000 years ago, and our well informed guide did a good job of explaining the architectural remains, as well as the history of the archaeological excavation. The most interesting remains, in my opinion, are the acropolis (Troy VII), the odeon (Troy IX), and a ramp leading to what would have been the main gate of Troy II. Also noteworthy is that archaeologists have found all of the pieces of a Temple of Athena, and reconstruction will begin this summer - an exciting addition to the site! It was really fun wandering along the path through the different layers of the cities, and learning about what archaeologists believe different stone walls to have been. We also learned a lot about a German treasure hunter named Heinrich Schliemann, who first discovered the site, and was successful in seriously damaging a lot of it in his manic search for treasure from Homeric Troy. He was an idiot, and it was infuriating to see where he had destroyed walls and dug erratic trenches through the site. He claims to have found treasure in the remains of Troy II (dating to 2600-2250BC) that he unhesitatingly called Priam's Treasure, though Homeric Troy is largely believed to be Troy VII (dating to 1300-1190BC). He smuggled he treasure out of Turkey, which his wife later wore to social events, despite the fact that they are supposed to be important archaeological discoveries. Much debate surrounding the authenticity of this treasure persists, and since he claims to have found the treasure inside a minor building wall outside of the main city walls, I can see why.

After our tour, we were driven back to Istanbul, concluding our weekend adventure. It was really nice to briefly leave the bustle of the city. Though I love it here, it can be draining to be so far from nature and so surrounded by people all the time.

Sorry this post is a bit short, but I've been having some computer problems and I am writing this entry from my phone. When I add photos later I will flesh it out a little! Now back to midterm studying, wish me luck!

The Battlegrounds of Demigods and Heroes: Troy and Gallipoli Part One

I'm sorry it's been so long since I last wrote!  This blog was teetering on the precipice from whence all of my journals and diaries have fallen into "oh God, too much has happened, it's too late to catch up" valley.  But I've decided to approach the blog differently.  From now on, I'll be posting at minimum every Tuesday, and whenever else I feel like it, Insha'Allah.  Today's episode: my weekend trip to Gallipoli and Troy.

I pitched the idea of travelling out of the city for a history weekend to a couple of friends who are also here on exchange, and before I knew it, I was coordinating a weekend trip for 9 of my classmates.  We left early on Saturday morning in a minibus run by our hotel, arriving in Eceabat on the Gallipoli Peninsula about 5 hours later.  After a delicious Turkish lunch also provided by the hotel, we packed back into the bus and were driven to the battlefields of Gallipoli where so many people lost their lives in 1915.

I don't remember when I first learned about the Dardanelles campaign on the Gallipoli Peninsula South-West of Istanbul.  I don't think it was in any high school history classes; the campaign didn't involve many Canadians, and the World War One discussions rarely accounted for battles that took place outside of Western Europe.  However, over the years I became increasingly interested with the disastrous Allied attempt to take the Gallipoli Peninsula in order to create a supply route to Russia while drawing German forces into a fight on the Eastern front.  Churchill, then First Lord of the Admiralty, seems to have believed that the Ottoman forces, who were seen as inferior and an insignificant threat to the Allies, would quail at the sight of the British and French navy and lay down their weapons.  After a failed attempt to sail through the straits, Allied forces landed on the Gallipoli Peninsula for what would be a 9-month stalemate, which was extremely costly for both sides, and led to a humiliating defeat and withdrawal of the Allied forces.  The information I am going to present in this post comes from research as well as stories from our tour guide.

The first stop on our tour was Brighton Beach, where the Allies had planned to land their ANZAC (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps) forces.  The beach is long and flat, and the ground after the beach cuts across the peninsula with little change in altitude.  The plan was to get across it as quickly as possible and then take the high ground to the North.  Unfortunately for the Allies, under cover of darkness and betrayed by the currents of the Aegean Sea, they missed Brighton Beach and landed to the North at a place now known as ANZAC cove, which was our next stop.  Unlike Brighton Beach, Anzac Cove is tiny, and the terrain immediately after the beach is steep.  The Turkish forces atop the cliffs above inflicted significant casualties upon the ANZAC troops in the first day, with estimated casualties over 2000 men.  The Allied troops did succeed in securing higher ground, chasing the Ottoman forces uphill once they ran out of ammunition.  The Turks were met by Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, commander of the 57th Regiment.  Kemal had ignored commands to reinforce troops elsewhere on the peninsula and had instead shrewdly realized that the Allies were attempting to secure Chunuk Bair, the highest point in the surrounding area from whence control of the peninsula would be easy to command.  According to Bill, our guide, he had raced ahead of his troops to command the retreating Ottoman troops in an attempt to prevent the Allies securing Chunuk Bair, despite their lack of ammunition.  He directed them to switch to bayonets and arrange themselves as if they were the first line of defence, lying on the ground for cover as though other troops were behind them.  The Allied forces, when they saw them, assumed a greater Turkish force was waiting and also dug in defensively.  Kemal therefore bluffed his way to victory, as the rest of the 57th Regiment had time to catch up and support the poorly prepared troops holding Chunuk Bair.  For this battle maneuver and others, Kemal gained support, popularity and fame, later going on to lead the Turkish independence movement between 1919-1922.  He was granted the surname "Ataturk" - Father of Turks - and is beloved by Turkish people worldwide.  His face and name are everywhere and on everything from streets to currency.

The rest of the tour took in several moving cemeteries and war memorials of Turkish, New Zealander and Australian origin.  As always, it is interesting to see the ways in which people are honoured, and major events remembered, though devastating to see gravestones of young men whose lives had barely begun.  The official estimation of casualties is around 500,000 people.  One memorial on the coast has Ataturk's words of peace and reconciliation: "To us there is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets… You, the mothers, who sent your sons from faraway countries, wipe aaa your tears; your sons are now lying our bosom… After having lost their lives in this land, they have become our sons as well."  The primary memorial for Australian troops is at Lone Pine, where, over the course of 4 days in a space about the size of a soccer field, 7000 men died.  It was beautiful and sad, with its large pine tree and touching epitaphs on the gravestones of boys as young at 14.  The words "Their Names Liveth On Forever More" are everywhere on these sorts of memorials, but I can't help but wonder what kind of comfort that gives to the families of the fallen.

We were shown to old trenches at Johnston's Jolly, so named because of an Allied commander who used to tease the Turkish forces during long weeks of inactivity.  With the lines only a few meters apart, it was easy for soldiers from opposite sides to communicate.  Bizarre to think that the troops of different nations were able to tease, share jokes with and get to know each other between attempts to kill one another.  Senseless.  We finished the tour at Chunuk Bair, where the Turkish have their memorial to the fallen.  Predictably, Ataturk was there, and dozens of Turkish tourists, who were notably absent from any other battlefields.  It was easy to understand why the area had such strategic significance.  What seems like the entire peninsula was visible, from Suvla Bay to the North where British forces landed in a last attempt to secure the peninsula, towards Anzac Cove where the ANZAC forces had a base for 9 months, and other battlefields like Lone Pine.  We discussed how the Allied forces' most successful maneuver during the campaign was their evacuation, during which no Allied soldiers were lost.  9 months, half a million casualties, and nothing to show for it.  War is super awful.

The Gallipoli Campaign is really important to Australians and New Zealanders, as it was the first time their forces fought under their own flags and representing their own nationalities, rather than as a greater part of the British Empire.  On April 25th, thousands of people from Oceania come to Gallipoli to pay their respects in huge ceremonies.  Next year is the 100th anniversary, and due to expectations around the vast number of people who will want to attend, there are lotteries being held in Australia and New Zealand to determine who can go for the ceremonies.  It is also very significant for Turkish people, as one of their only "successes" during WWI, and as the place where their beloved Ataturk gained recognition and power.

I'm honestly too bummed out after writing about all that devastating military stuff, so I will write about Troy later, when I'm feeling more peppy.  In any case, the tour we did was awesome, and I would recommend Crowded House in Eceabat, and our tour guide Bill, to anyone visiting the Peninsula.

Bombarded by Locals in Istanbul (and Other Adventures)

Last Friday, I was wandering around in the sun and wound up in Sultanahmet, the central tourist hub of activity in Istanbul which is home to the Aya Sofia, the Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace and the Grand Bazaar.  While standing in the square, which is on the ancient site of the Roman Hippodrome (the first one was constructed on the site in 203AD), admiring the obelisks, a middle aged local gentleman approached and began telling me about the site's history.  Wary of being conned into a tour of some kind, I remained somewhat distant until he assured me that this was free information and he was just waiting for a friend.  He introduced himself as Hamdullah, and as we continued to chat, and he revealed that he is the owner of the best carpet store in Istanbul.  I told him I wasn't in the market for a carpet that day, and that I had chosen to come sightseeing instead.  He suggested that I stop by anyways in order to learn about carpets, and since I had no plans for the day and we were getting along nicely, I agreed.  He led me through the side streets of Sultanahmet, and we entered his very well kept shop.  Turkish tea (çay) was brought out, and we sipped and discussed different materials, colours, patterns and meanings of different carpets.  I admired the workmanship of some of his carpets, and though there was obviously hope that I would purchase, there was no pressure.  I learned so much about different regions of Turkey based on the type and style of carpet (in Turkish, hali), and I really enjoyed talking to Hamdullah and his nephew, Abdullah.  After a while, they invited me to lunch, and took me to a restaurant that cooks food specifically from Hamdullah's hometown in Anatolia.  We ate delicious kebab, all kinds of vegetables, and dessert.  Although I protested that I was full, I was continually offered bites literally from Hamdullah's fork, and it was difficult to resist his insistence.  As we ate, they discussed poetry, the Kurdish struggle and Islam with me.  My favourite part of the meal was when Hamdullah told me a story of Bahool, a Muslim teacher:

A non-believer approached Bahool to challenge him in proving his faith.  He asked the teacher three questions: firstly, if Allah is real, why can he not be seen?  Secondly, if Satan was thrown into the fires of hell, and he himself is made of fire, how is it that the fires of hell are punishment for Satan?  Thirdly, if Allah controls the destiny of man, how is it that people are responsible for their own actions?  Bahool took a brick from the ground and struck the questioner in the head.  He was arrested and brought before the judge.  When asked to explain himself, he stated that he had merely answered the man's questions.  Turning to the questioner, Bahool asked him to prove that he was in pain.  When the man said that he could not prove it, but he could feel it, Bahool pointed out that it is the same with Allah: he knows him to be real, but some things may only be felt, not seen.  Secondly, as men come from the earth, and the brick that hurt the questioner also came from the earth, Satan can also be injured by fire.  And finally, if men are to be free of responsibility by the reasoning that Allah controls the destiny of men, then Bahool ought not to be on trial.  Stunned, the questioner demanded that Bahool be freed immediately, and began a long devotion to the study and practice of Islam.

After the meal, we parted ways amicably, and though I doubt that Hamdullah's prices are the lowest in the city, I will be purchasing a carpet from him.

I returned to Sultanahmet to my planned visit to the Sultan Ahmed Mosque (more commonly referred to as the Blue Mosque).  There are 6 gorgeous minarets adorning the curvaceous exterior of the building, and upon entry, the splendour I found inside completely blew me away.  Tens of thousands of delicately painted blue tiles from Izmir adorn the giant dome, windows allow light to pour in, and the sanctity of the space is breathtaking.  As I alternately snapped photos and whispered "wow" under my breath, I was approached from the other side of the tourist barrier by a young woman who asked if I had any questions.  She volunteers at the mosque, educating tourists about the site and Islam in general. She explained the steps in the ritual of Muslim prayer, which includes leaving the greater world behind you, folding your hands to indicate humble servitude, bowing to show reverence and touching your forehead to the ground in the ultimate display of respect.  She explained the number of cycles that practicing Muslims complete at each prayer time (there are 5 each day), and told me about the verses of the Qur'an that are recited at each prayer.  We discussed hejab, the modest dress and covered hair that many Muslim women choose to wear; she further explained that the reason women and men pray separately is to reduce distractions for both parties, as people pray shoulder to shoulder and in lines, and many people are uncomfortable with contacting a stranger of the opposite sex, or bending over in front of them, as it detracts attention from their prayers.  It was really informative, and I deeply appreciated the time she took to educate me about her religion.  We were interrupted by the adham (call to prayer) echoing hauntingly across the old city outside.  Assuming that I had to leave, I began to gather my things, but she assured me that as long as I didn't take pictures and was respectful, I could stay for prayer.  It was very moving to be in the room as dozens of people moved in synchronicity, facing the Kaaba, while an Imam recited the Qur'an.

I was absolutely amazed that on a day with no plans, I was approached more than once by incredibly kind people who want to share their experiences, their stories and their beliefs with me.  I learned so much and was really impressed at the level of genuine enthusiasm, largely unmotivated by personal gain, that I encountered.  The locals here are something else.

After a relaxing weekend with my roommates involving much local food sampling, I began my orientation week at Koc University!  It has been awesome meeting so many new people from all over the world.  Don't worry Mom, I'm making friends, and we're already talking about places to go, new food and drink to try, different music to listen to and the contrasts between our cultures and nations.  Campus is lovely, set in the middle of a forest north of the main city of Istanbul, it has facilities out the wazoo, including 2 swimming pools, a skating rink, really nice gyms, golf facilities, nice turf fields, a climbing wall, a gorgeous library and underground tunnels to avoid the "harsh winter" (hahaha) of Istanbul.  We had a skating party today, which was a really fun way to socialize and get to chat with people who are not in my orientation group.  Tomorrow we will register for our classes, which begin next week.  Things are starting to fall into place; I'm negotiating traffic with more and more ease, I am pronouncing the few Turkish phrases I know better by the day, and the apartment is starting to feel more like home.  Dig it.

Merhaba from Istanbul!

Before I delight you with tales of my adventures, allow me a moment to share a few observations about my new home, Istanbul, Turkey.

1. It doesn't take a lot of research to see that Istanbul is home to a population about 4 times that of British Columbia.  A lesser-known fact, however, is that the city is home to as many seagulls as Canada is home to people.  They are everywhere.  I consider myself fortunate that they have not yet organized to form a sort of evil gull tribe that could carry away small children or block traffic, and instead spend their time trying to relieve unsuspecting tourists of their simit (a common form of street food, basically a bread doughnut).
2. Speaking of traffic, I would like to reassure everyone who said "are you sure the Middle East is safe?" referring to kidnap, violent jihadists or other terrors hyperbolized by the Western Media that my demise in Turkey will likely come, not from a terrorist, but from a rushed businessman who was trying to drive too fast down a winding cobbled street while simultaneously texting and shouting at his family in the back seat.  There are no traffic laws here.  I was warned of this, and believed myself prepared to do as the locals do.  However, this left me balancing on the line in the middle of the road (also known as the motorcyclists' route), swaying back and forth as though I was doing a DUI test with the Turkish folk as cars whizzed by on either side.  Don't worry Mom, I am learning to be more careful, and I am going to avoid crossing main streets.
3. The people here are among the friendliest I've ever encountered.  Passing by shops and moving through crowds, people greet you, but don't hassle you, and are always helpful in pointing out directions, correcting your abysmal Turkish, and suggesting neat things to check out in the city.  As a woman in Vancouver, I have sadly had to become used to unpleasant comments, inappropriate groping in crowded spaces or bars, and other unwanted advances from men.  I have not encountered anything but polite respect from the locals, perhaps as a result of more commonly held religious values, or perhaps because (in my admittedly limited observations of Turkey thusfar) women are objectified much less in advertising and media.  I like feeling safe walking through unfamiliar streets in the evening, even when the presence around me is predominantly male.

And now onto adventures!
I arrived in Istanbul late on Tuesday night.  A somewhat stressful crash-course in public transit later, I made it to Sisli/Mecidiyekoy Metro, which is quite close to my new home.  I was met there by Basak, my new roommate.  She and her best friend Nihan (also Turkish), are both students (forestry and satellite engineering), and they rent out the 2 empty rooms in their lovely apartment to exchange students in order to work on their English.  It has paid off, because we have had many opportunities to chat about topics from family to religion to politics, and they have had no problem expressing themselves and being understood.  We spent the first evening chatting and getting to know one another, and a good deal of the next morning was spent with Nihan having a long breakfast.  I tried my first cups of Turkish tea, and I can safely predict that I will consume my weight in that delicious liquid before I leave the country.

Around noon, I gathered my wits, my map, and my courage and set out into a completely giant and unfamiliar city.  I walked from Taksim square, the city centre most recently famous for last summer's anti-government protests, south along incredibly crowded streets.  The air is different, filled with different cooking smells, tobacco smoke (everyone smokes here!), and occasionally with the evocative and beautiful calls to prayer.  I made my way down crowded walking streets, made chaotic by the attempted passing of cars and motorbikes, passing stores selling everything from pashmina scarves to traditional folkloric instruments to flashing LED lights to refrigerators.

I stopped at Galata Tower (circa 1348), originally built on the site of a wooden lighthouse dating from 528.  The tower is 67 meters high, and offers a gorgeous view of the Bosphorus and the stunning architecture that Istanbul is renowned for.  I spent some time up the tower, photographic the mosques and Topkapi palace across the straight, and resolved to come back during the golden hour.  I then crossed the Golden Horn on Galata bridge, famous for the hordes of fishermen who crowd it each day to cast their lines into the water.  The views from the bridge are stunning.

I wandered the squares on the southern side of the Horn, eating street food and marvelling at the ridiculously fast pace of the city's tourist centre.  After circumnavigating it to appreciate the splendour from all sides, I covered my hair, removed my shoes and entered Yeni Cami, the New Mosque.  It was breathtaking.  Although it was not the hour of prayer, there were many believers inside worshipping God.  The walls are delicately tiled and the domes soar high overhead.  Although dimly lit, the splendour of the artistry was not lost.  I always find it humbling to enter extravagantly beautiful houses of worship, whether giant gothic cathedrals or huge, domed mosques, and the fervour with which people were praying in that holy space defies words.

I eventually left the mosque and made the trek back across the Horn.  I'm finding it a lot easier to navigate Istanbul than Amsterdam, mostly because uphill is home, and downhill is water.  I am quite certain that I will regain some fitness just by living in a city with steeply cobbled streets; it was quite a trek back to Taksim.  I found my way home with little difficulty, much to my relief, and I'm settling in well.  Today has been a laid back day, due to jet lag and unanticipated exhaustion, I mostly spent the day working out plans for school/banks/groceries etc.  Tomorrow I am planning to bus down to a different part of the waterfront to go for a run, and maybe take a ferry ride between continents.  I arrived thinking that I would feel like a local in no time, and would be able to get a hang of the city.  This may be true of my more immediate surroundings, but I had no concept of just how huge Istanbul is, and I would not be familiar with the city even if I lived here for the next 5 years.  It is equal parts intimidating and exciting, I can't wait to see more of what this place has to offer.

I (explore) Amsterdam

*I apologize that this wouldn't post yesterday.  The internet in my new apartment was on the fritz, something I am told to get used to.  "It is Turkey", Basak says with a shrug.  It also looks like I will have to wait to use the internet at school to upload photos, as my browser keeps crashing when I try.  Apologies.*

Having seen more of Amsterdam, I can happily say that it must be one of the most habitable cities in the world.  You can walk everywhere, though there are bikes and trams if you don't want to, the streets are clean, the people friendly, and everything is done efficiently and with the environment in mind.  I love having water nearby at all times.  The Amsterdam canals keep the city feeling fresh, as the waterways are always changing, and I like seeing homes with no car, but a row boat moored out the back door.

Yesterday I emerged from my hostel to a much quieter street than Sunday had offered, allowing me more time to take photographs and explore without as much fear of being run down by a bicycle.  I took my time heading to the Museums Quarter, detouring by the Dam square.  The square was built up around and on the first dam across the Amstel river (hence the name of the city) in the late-13th century.    It's neat to spend some time people watching in the heart of the city, and this was no exception.  Against the backdrop of  impressive buildings such as the Royal Palace, an imposing Gothic church and Madame Tussaud's wax museum (which I find creepy and did not choose to visit), locals whiz by on bikes while tourists feed the pigeons.  On a side note, to everyone ever thinking about touching a pigeon, don't.

I eventually made it through the winding streets (still had to triple check my directions and turned myself around more than once) and arrived in the Museums Quarter at the Van Gogh Museum.  It was, in a word, incredible.  To see the work of a master from his beginning stages through to the end of his life was a privilege, and the displays were excellent.  There was works by his contemporaries to provide some historical artistic reference, and works by those he influenced, to show how van Gogh advanced and changed the way people think about art and colour.  The museum did a good job of laying out biographical information along with his paintings, and I was interested to learn that he was not a talented artist to begin with... he studied art theory and practiced a lot before he produced anything he was happy with (and that it is worth the public's time to see).  Though a little pricey (15 euro) I really enjoyed the visit and would recommend it.  Pictures are not allowed inside the museum, and guards are ever watchful to make sure that those who attempt it delete the photos and accept a reprimand.

After leaving the museum, I sampled some of the local food, including delicious waffles that I may have to return to Amsterdam for.  After recovering my lust for museums, I walked along a quiet side canal to the Anne Frank House, which was surprisingly quiet.  Having seen 2-hour queues the day before, I count myself lucky, and advise anyone hoping to visit to aim for a week day, or to book tickets online in advance (9 euro).  The museum is housed in the building where Anne Frank, her family, and their family friends hid from 1942-1944 from the Nazis during Hollands occupation.  It was intense to see the tiny annex behind what had been Otto Frank's office space converted into a residence for 8 people.  Thinking about the cause for their desperation is always a sobering experience, especially having being to Auschwitz 2 years ago with Kelly and having seen where Anne and her sister died.  The museum information is well presented, interactive, and creates a space in which to remember reading Anne's story.  For me, having read her diary and seen the play based on her writing, being in the secret annex made the story come alive.  The museum is now unfurnished to represent the loss of life during the Shoah, but it is easy (though upsetting) to imagine it crammed with people and belongings.  The final exhibit in the museum is related to human rights, and the ethical dilemma of rights which contradict each other.  It presented scenarios, for example, a music group who rap hatefully about homosexuals (including lyrics suggesting they be killed), who have been forced to cancel concerts.  They call on their freedom of speech, saying it is their right to say whatever they want.  The museum then poses a yes or no question to the museum patrons, who answer electronically.  It was interesting to see the results based on the ways in which people think about ethics and rights, as collected data was shown for my visit as well as throughout the duration of the exhibit.  I appreciated seeing the museum taking the initiative to extend people's thoughts beyond the atrocities committed against Anne Frank and the many other Jewish people she has come to represent to current issues facing oppressed populations today.

I returned to the hostel to hang out with some of the people staying there; a group of exchange students from Brazil who are studying in the UK, and some British girls who were all really fun to talk and party with.  We sought out dinner and drinks together, giving a nice send off to Amsterdam!  

Today was a rough day of travel, lots of time lugging a giant suitcase through unfamiliar cities with too many layers of clothing on (my suitcase was overweight and stretched to its limit).  But at last I have arrived at my new home in Istanbul.  I found my roommate, Basak, without too much trouble despite not having a phone, and she and our other roommate Nihan were incredibly friendly in getting me set up on the couch until the room I will be renting from them is unoccupied.  Basak and Nihan are both Turkish girls and students, and we live in a region just north of Taksim square on the metro, which is convenient for getting around, especially to and from school.  I'm really excited to check out the city tomorrow... I caught a fleeting glimpse of the Blue Mosque on the bus into town from the airport, and it was absolutely tantalizing.  I have 1 week before school orientation, and I mean to make the most of it!

Seattle and Day One in Amsterdam!

Since flying out of Seattle is generally quite a bit cheaper than flying out of Vancouver, my partner Christopher and I decided to take the opportunity to get a romantic weekend away in together before I go.  We stayed in the foggy city of Seattle, which feels to me like Victoria’s older, punker brother.  It was super wonderful to explore the market, walk along the waterfront, and have a break before the relative stress of figuring out where you are while traveling and simultaneously moving.  The market was overstimulating, to say the least.  Craftspeople with their wares shouting at you and offering you samples, bright colours, funny smells, and always the crush of people.  It was fun, if overwhelming, to be inside.  Chris made me walk back up 5 flights of stairs to see the ridiculous gum wall when he realized we’d passed it, which was less fun.  We checked out some galleries and had lovely meals, including one at a really cute Italian restaurant where a wizened old man played us “That’s Amor”.  The perfect revitalization weekend with my love before this period of upheaval and change.
One short-ish flight later, and I'm across the world in Amsterdam.  I've never been here before, and it's been neat to have some time to appreciate the city a bit aesthetically and architecturally before jumping into the culture tomorrow with the Museums Quarter and the Anne Frank House.

In Vancouver, I pride myself on my sense of direction.  It’s my small town upbringing, I can just feel North.  But I think the jet-lag stole it away from me, because I walked in increasing panic and ever-smaller circles around the lovely Amsterdam today.  I can’t say it was all bad, I did cover rather a lot of ground that will hopefully inform my wanderings tomorrow, but if not for the Dutch people’s friendliness and their multi-lingual population, I might still be out there, wandering the maze of canals and brick buildings that make up the capital of the Netherlands.
When I landed, I was so tired of sitting and in desperate need of fresh air, so after an easy transit trip in, I set out on foot to explore.  I walked past gorgeous red brick buildings with ornate trim, talked to tulip sellers about the mixed blessing of tourism, made awkwardly long, spaced-out eye contact with a young lady in a window in the red light district, and learned about the history of cannabis and hemp, whose availability have added to the draw of Amsterdam for twenty-somethings.  The museum was of questionable validity, given that they referenced things like Shakespeare saying he “descended into a mind dream” as a definite pledge of the Bard for legalization, but the artifacts were interesting, many from a few hundred years ago.  After the spontaneous stop at the museum, I spent several hours winding my way through the brick-laid streets, taking pictures and taunting pigeons.  Amsterdam is a gorgeous city, with way too many intriguing streets to peek down.  I love the mixture of historic past in the pretty buildings and preservation of their cultural history, and present in their energy initiatives, among them windmills all along the outskirts of the city and awesome bike paths that see heavy use.  Not wanting to miss out on another quintessential Amsterdam experience, I sought out the mellow-est cafe I could find, sat down with some tea, a book, a joint and the cafe’s resident cat to half-watch a nature documentary while the dude behind the counter played Dark Side of the Moon on shuffle.  Too weird to be a lie.
Upon my departure from the cafe, I realized that I had walked very far indeed from my hostel.  I started to head back in the increasing chill, and soon discovered that my instincts are useless in this city.  A clear reminder that I am a visitor, nothing more.  Once I decided to do the opposite of what my head thought I should do in terms of directions, I began making progress towards the red dot the hostel manager had put on my map.  However, a couple of hours later as I neared the area where I thought the dot showed my hostel to be, I recognized nothing.  My surroundings were not the touristy ones I was expecting, but a residential area where people biking by looked sardonically at my map and befuddled expression.  Upon a deeper inspection of the map, I discovered that the hostel manager had highlighted in red only two things on the map, which was otherwise covered in his scrawling recommendations: my hostel and the Heineken factory.  Apparently the brewery warranted equal importance to my place of residence.
I must say, I’m looking forward to getting to Istanbul, to start from scratch in a new city, to figure out the best places to go, to be a local.  I’ve never attempted a venture like this, and I’m starting to get antsy.  I want to get my hands on my new home.

(photos to come!)

I Think It's Time For Another Adventure

Today is my last day in Vancouver before I'm on the road again.  This time I'm off to the Middle East, moving to Istanbul to attend Koc University on exchange from my home school, the University of British Columbia.  I'll be living in one of the most historically important and cosmopolitan cities in the world from late January through early June, and then I'm traveling with friends through Iran, Jordan and Israel and the Palestinian Territories.  I am unspeakably excited to see more that the world has to offer, and I invite you to travel vicariously through me again!