The Kurds

My impression is that the Kurds are disliked and disrespected in Turkey. I was told (by an extremely limited sample) that the Kurds were lazy and dirty. There was no objection to allowing them their own country, but the argument was that it wasn't enough for them, they wanted more. These CHP supporters also felt that AKP Prime Minister Erdogan had handled the situation with the Kurds badly, being to conciliatory. They believed the  Kurds were not as they are portrayed in the West.

The sympathetic view of the Kurds from these same CHP supporters was that they aren't given the same opportunity as other Turks, which is responsible for their bad qualities.

On the bus from Istanbul to Ankara, which was headed to the eastern city of Van, a man told me that this was a "Kurdish" bus. He complained about the smell of the bus on multiple occasions. To me, it smelled like any other bus in the world after and eight hour ride... terrible.

This month, while I was in Ankara, violence hit the southeastern portion of the country as about a dozen Kurdish rebels and two Turkish soldiers were killed in clashes. it wasn't an important news event in Turkey. It wasn't even the lead story on the news that day.

The issue with the Kurds gets directly to the heart of what it means to be a Turkish citizen. Can people who aren't ethnic Turks or are non-Muslims be enjoy legal, social, and economic equality as full citizens? It's been an issue that has persisted since the founding of modern Turkey. The inability of the state to allow minority to coexist has resulted not only in the violence from and against Kurds over the past 30 years, but also in the genocide of the Armenians and in other violence against minorities.

Yet, there is a desire among the Turks that I encountered to be perceived as tolerant of minorities. People are free to be who they are, or so the line goes. But the reality is far more complicated.

The Price of Turkey

In Turkey, books and gas are extremely expensive. That results in limited information for the Turkish people. Books, especially foreign language books, fall outside the price range of the average citizen. They are more expensive than in the United States even though Turkey's GDP per capita is significantly lower than the U.S.'s.

Relatedly, Turkish news focuses only on news in Turkey. There is very little foreign news. This shapes Turkish people's worldview in powerful way. Turkey borders Iraq and Syria, yet the violence in those countries seems like a world away. Even violence in southeastern Turkey felt as if it was in a different country.

Gas costs about 3.70TL per liter. That means it's roughly $8.25 a gallon. Again, Turks make less than the average American who pays about $3.70 a gallon right now. The price of owning a car is also far more expensive than it is in America. The result is that Turks do not have the freedom to travel within their own country that Americans possess. This is part of the reason why southeastern Turkey is so divided from central Anatolia and farther west. The other reason is ethnicity. The southeast is home to the Kurds.

Istanbul Home

On Wednesday night, I went out with the two receptionists again. The driver began racing in his ten year old car despite my objections. He confidently proclaimed, "I know the racers on the road. I know the tricks. If I had a better car, I would win." Later he asserted, "I know how to crash." He said no one would get hurt and that during the would-be crash he was in control. That's what I wanted for my last night in Turkey, a car accident.

But we didn't crash. Instead, we ate at a kabob place along a street filled with them in Aksaray. It was delicious, then I went back to the hotel to sleep for my flight home.

The trip home was long and tiring. On the metro, I smiled at a baby who smiled back, much to the delight of another man watching us. The Delta flight didn't have tvs in each seat. Instead, we all had to watch the same thing. I hadn't been on an international flight like that in years.

After the flight was over, the man in front of me, a middle aged man with graying hair, tattoos covering his freakishly muscular arms, and twirl earrings advised me to watch my head as he lowered the overhead bin. The bin stopped 8 inches above my head. The man looked embarrassed with his miscalculation. I said, "It's never an issue." A minute later, he bumped his head on the bin looking for the cell phone he had just dropped.

I was able to skip most of the massive line at passport control because of my connecting flight. The passport officials flirted endlessly with young women getting their passports stamped, holding up the line. When it was my turn, the man didn't say one word to me. I laughed as I left.

As I got my bag, a tall black airport official asked a confused little Filipino woman where she was going. The woman ignored him. He joked with me, "That's what I get for trying to help someone. Did she think I was going to rob her? There are 300 federal agents here." He then happily told me where to go.

After going the wrong way on the Air Train, I righted myself and began helping non-U.S. visitors who asked for my help. It felt good to help people after so many people in Turkey had helped me. Still, I wasn't walking for an hour and half to bring someone to their destination. Vague points were the extent of my help. In America, especially in New York, that makes me something of another Gandhi.

The man sitting next to me on the puddle jumper to DC was too tall and took over much of my area. It was frustrating and the trip was getting to me, although the man was apologetic. Finally, I made it home.

The Bird and the Belgian Waffle

Last night, two of the hotel receptionists, including my NBA-loving friend, took me out. Both are licensed tour guides and they gave me a free drive through the city. They showed me some of the more posh sites in European Istanbul, inlcluding a Starbucks on the Bosphorus that had the nicest room I've ever been in.

At one point, the police pulled us over because we're young looking and it was late. That was the extent of their reasoning. The policeman with buggy eyes and a small face was at least nice. He took the two guys' identity cards to see if they were wanted. Being American, I wasn't checked.

Then we went to a strand of food stalls where the vendors holler at you as you pass. The one guy was friends with a couple of the vendors and we were able to get the works for our Belgian Waffles and baked poatatoes. Basically, they stuff everything known to man in them and fold the waffle over. It's unbelievably good. And it was an absolutely wonderful little tour that I won't soon forget. It was all the more special because gas is so expensive here.

Today, I went to Asian Istanbul. I've been in Istanbul too long. While getting there, I helped an old Turkish lady buy her tram token. Coming home, I helped another old Turkish lady buy her ferry ticket. After taking the ferry myself to the Asian side, I walked the coast from Uskudar to Karakoy.

If I ever take you to the smooth rocks on the Asian side as the Bosphorus twinkles in the sunset, be warned, I'm getting ready to propose. And don't steal my idea you assholes. Later, a bird shat on my head. A direct hit. I rushed to a bathroom and put hand soap and water in my hair.

I've had an amazing, inspiring, and enlightening trip. It's all I could've asked for.

A Wild Day

I asked the receptionist how to get to Chora Church (pronounced Cora for some reason). He suggested I take a tour for 25 euros. I said it was too much, I just wanted to visit the church. He said, "Ok, 20 euros." I told him, that I was going to Haskoy afterwards. He told me how to get to Chora, but I decided to go my own way.

I left Topkapi tram station and walked towards Chora. That sounds easier than it was because at some point the sidewalks next to the highway ran out. I had to run across several lanes of highway, speeding cars and all, much like Eddie Murphy in Bowfinger.

At one point, I had my back against the wall as cars flew inches from me. I saw a man and jumped back ove rthe wall. He grabbed me and took me on a bus that stopped 30 seconds away. But there was no way for me to get there walking without risking death. Then it was an ordeal to get to Chora fromt here. Most people had no idea what I was asking. An elderly French man recoiled in horror as I approached him, but his wife was more poised and helped me out. Chora Church was a let down after that harrowing experience.

Then I walked to the sea. I stumbled upon a cockfight in the park. Two roosters reached for each other's neck as if they were two competive lovers trying to out-kiss each other. I didn't stay to see who won.

I hopped on the ferry to go to Haskoy. I though Haskoy would have a prominent Jew town. I would ask for the synagogue, people would point to it and I would meet my fellow Jews. Um, it was a nice dream. In reality, I asked for "synagogue" and it elicited a wide range of reactions. For the most part I got back confusion and apathy. One man yelled at me angrily something about Allah. Another group ran for their lone English-speaking friend who told me there were no synagogues in Haskoy.

I went into an internet cafe to look it up online. After writing down a half-address, I asked where the sea was. The internet cafe worker found his English-speaking friend Ilyas (when I say English-speaking, I mean he knew about twenty words). Ilyas recruited his friend (who spoke no English) Orhan. Ilyas, Orhan, and I went off in search for the synagogue.

One problem, they thought a synagogue was a church. Even despite my showing them my yarmulke, my Yuri Foreman shirt with its Star of David, and my repeating "Israel, Israel." We walked and walked. They continuously stopped to ask people. I think they were constantly arguing about directions because synagogue was every fifth word and they kept motioning left and right. They were probably in their mid 20s, between 5'6" and 5'9". Ilyas's hair was gelled in the front and he donned a leather jacket.

At several points other people joined our quest. One was a man with a long gray beard. He patted me on the shoulder when he left us. Afterwards, Ilyas made a beard motion and said "Haji" Then he said, "Bin Laden," and laughed. After an hour and a half, we found the synagogue. I had walked by the high red walls with an impressive amount of barbed wire above its walls about an hour and 25 minutes before. I felt like such a shcmuck. Ilyas repeated rang the bell and pounded ont he doors. The synagogue was closed.

I walked to Eminu afterwards, no small task. I took the tram back to Sultan Ahmet, ate, and came here. I've been talking with the recptionists, including my NBA-loving friend for the past few hours. There goes my plans to go to a cafe and meet people. We talked about Erdogan and they both saw him asa bad influence ont he coutnry. Another receptionist who stopped by said he is not a supporter of Erdogan, but asserted there was no better option.

Back in Istanbul

It took me a while to get out of the room. My knee was stiff from the fall on the shuttle and the jousting with the tall man with bad breath on the bus to Istanbul.

I showered and headed for Europeam Istanbul. I really blended in with the locals, who truly fit a variety of descriptions. It's good because the touts who pester other foreigners don't bother me. But it's bad because there are touts for Turkish people too and they do bother me. It's also bad because instead of looking like a cool American adventurer traveling on his own, I look like a friendless local loser.

I keep entering book stores even though I know the prices are astronomical. I guess I'm hoping for that diamond in the rough.

After eating on Istiklal Road, I searched for a cafe to sit and either mingle or people watch. The only thing suitable was a Starbucks, an establishment I never go to in the U.S. I studied people walking buy and wondered what is this need to be in love. I had heard sad stories of marriages dissolving this weekend and yet, I can't fight the desire. I know that being alone leaves with a constant contentness whereas being in a relationship will create extreme highs and lows. It's not rational to want to trade emotional stability for love it would seem. Yet, I was reminder of the Messiah J quote, "I'm well aware love is horro show, but I see you holding hands and say, 'That looks like fun I wanna go.'"

There is a need among humans to have shared experiences and that is something I'm mostly missing by traveling alone. We also have a need to touch and be touched; to talk and to listen; to love and be loved. Yet, I find romantic relationships often to be about status instead of love. A partner is like a designer accessory. I don't want to be in that kind of relationship. But we often pick people who others will have a positive reaction to rather than someone who makes us feel good.

At one point wandering around European Istanbul, a man asked me something in Turkish. I said, sorry? He threw his hands up in disgust and took off. I looked back on him and threw my hands up. Another man explained to me what happened... in Turkish. So I still have no idea.

I came into this hotel for the computer and my old NBA-loving friend was sitting behind the desk and was excited to see me. I was excited to see him too. We talked about my travels and Jeremy Lin.

Izmir to Istanbul

On Saturday, I also visited some old synagogues which had been left to crumble along the curvy alleys. A more recent synagogue was open and quite beautiful. I was surprised to see it wasn't in a Sephardic style. While in the synagogue, a friend of a friend of my mother's, a middle aged Jewish man, was talking about the history and current situation of the Jews in Izmir with me. The two Muslim women we were with kept shushing us. The man wispered to me, "They don't realize, we're Jews; we talk!"

Sunday featured a visit to the ancient city of Ephesus. Some people leave part of their hearts there. I left part of my tooth. It broke off on a hardened chocolate bar. Walking through the ancient ruins of Ephesus was surreal. There was thousands of years of history cast to the side. It really amazing how advanced they were so long ago. We can't lose our link with those who came before.

The car ride back was pleasant and peaceful. As the sun set. the shadows rested on the brown moutains. When we got to the outskirts of Izmir, I was told that the Gypsies have been moved from their homes to luxury apartments, but some, particulalry the older ones, don't want to go. Change can be difficult. Many houses are built up illegally. The goverment gave these people deeds right before the election to ensure their votes.

As soft romantic mood filled the car on the drive back, once we got into Izmir, that music wouldn't do amid the chaos of traffic in the city. Later, I had dinner with my mom's friend's mother and talked with mom's friend's son about his upcoming trip to America.

To get to Istanbul, I took a car, shuttle bus, bus, metro, walked, took the tram, and walked some more. When the shuttle reached the ottogar (bus station) in Izmir, I tried to lift my huge heavy bag over the seats and out. There was one problem. There was an inexplicable step in the middle fo the aisle. I tripped and banged my knee pretty badly. Assessing the injury, I nearly vomitted. But once I realized it was minor, I was fine.

On the bus, the man sitting next to me was too tall and sleeping all over me. I spent much of the ride tried to shove him back to his side through clenched teeth. The walk from the metro to the tram is not entirely obvious. So, I decided to follow a pretty girl in the hopes she was going to the tram. My stalkerish move worked! Now, I'm going to rest for a couple hours before trekking out (likely) into European Istanbul unless I have a change of heart.

In Izmir

I spent the day exploring Izmir wth a friend of my mother. First, we started in the ancient city of Agora. It is incredible to see those old ruins. The beauty of that they make us humble because it shows that we really haven't come so far. Not only do Americans exhibit arrogance towards other countries today, but we also show arrogance towards other time periods.

We then squeezed through the bazaar and drank some more of the bitter Turkish version of tea. They have to dunk an entire cube of sugar to quell the bitterness. I saw a tv program where they blamed that sugar on a rising level of obesty in Turkey. The funny thing is when showing B roll of fat people on television, instead of showing them from the neck down, they showed these fat people's faces.

Then, e went to a museum with sculptures from thousands of years ago. They left me speechless.

My mom's friend lamented the AKP, the party in power. She decried the corruption and nepotism of the party. She condemned the prime minister's manipulation of his poor background to gain the votes of the poor despite his anti-poor policies. And she also had harsh words for the Kurds and the gypsies.

Izmir is a Meditarrean city. it has a laid back, seaside feel. There are also mountains in the near distance. The traffic is bad though. The city has a certain swagger to it.

One interesting fact is the that books are astromincally expensive here in Turkey.  The result is that many people don't count reading as a hobby. You can draw your own conclusions as to its consequences.

Konya to Izmir

I turned off the gray-haired man's computer. His name is Yuksel. I went over to shake his hand in order to thank him. He retorted, "Now will you buy carpet?"

On the tram in Konya, you have to buy two tickets. I only needed one. I tried to give the card wth the one trip on it to a woman in hijab. She thought I was asking her a question and thwarted my charity. After I got off the tram, I handed the card to a man who appreciated the gesture.

I spent most of the day on the bus from Konya to Izmir in silence. No one on the bus spoke English. The attendant certainly didn't. The guy I bought a sandwich from halfway during the trip didn't either. I've used lots of hand gestures today.

I was picked up from the bus station in Izmir by the son of a friend of my mother's and take back to their lovely apartment. The son and I talked about the west-east divide in Turkey among other things. Let's just say, he doesn't look kindly on the Kurds.

That's been my day, one of traveling, mostly through the snow. It's been the first day of the trip without much walking.

Rumi and the Bookstore Run Around

Konya is supposed to be more religious than the rest of Turkey. My tv had problems, so, after a half hour of trying to fix it, they moved me to a different room. I'm glad they did, because they aray of channels were interesting. A number were weird Italian sex channels that I didn't understand, You had to call a number and well, I don't really know what happens then. There was also the Syrian state channel, which was more illuminating. The had an English brief. There was news on Russia standing up for Asad, China warning the West about interfering in the crisis, and a report on several Western journalists who were allowed into a seemingly peaceful city. It makes you think, why are Russia and China standing up for Syria during the crisis if there is no crisis and everything is normal? Asad's arguments are becoming more desparate and thus are contradictory.

Though Turkey borders Syria and Iraq (and Iran, although there isn't a crisis there, just tension with the U.S.) and there was an attack by the PKK in southeastern Turkey and a Turkish retaliation, you wouldn't know it being in Ankara or Konya. It feels a world away.

I visited Rumi's museum and tomb. It was a good visit and emotional to see his tomb. This town is very much devoted to the one they call Mevlana (the guide, Rumi's nickname). Afterwards, I went searching for English books. Two very nice English-speaking carpet sellers wrote down the name and the general vacinity of a mall-like building filled with book stalls. First we talked. One spends time in Brooklyn. He mentioned that he feels the fear of Muslims in America has gone down, but he still turned down a trip to a radical mosque because he feared being on some list. He was pleasantly surprised when I told him that I'm Jewish and noted that Jews are referenced as being cheap in Konya.

He said that he felt free in Turkey and approved of the work of the prime minister. The other man was more silent and most of his talking was about carpets. He has a deep memorable boom in his voice and his hair has a distinguished gray spot, a color that is sprinkled across his stubble. They asked me my age. It turns out, the gray-haired man and I are both 30. The part-time Brooklynite, who sported a soul patch,  was a mature 28. He mentioned that I don't look like a tourist at all. I'm using the gray-haired man's computer while sitting in the lobby of the hotel now. Talk about nice!

The book mall was not easier to find. First I went to the Seljuk mosque. Konya used to be the capital of the Seljuk empire. I was the only one in the mosque, quite a treat. Telephone lines block any attempt at a nice photo of the mosque. The first guy I asked for Rampal (the book mall) laughed and sais, "You want to go there?" I worried that maybe the place they had written down for me was something offensive. I asked another guy and he exhausted his English after, "First right, then left. Then," he shrugged. "Then I'll ask," I said. He laughed. It took asking two more peopl to find the place. And then, there were about 7 terrible English books in the whole place.

Much of my day involved hand gestures to get what I wanted, food, clothes, directions to Rampala. It's clumsy, but it works.