Article in International Affairs Review

Hi All,

Yes, it's true, I've been M.I.A. ... again. However, I've been busy! Haven't you? Below is an article I wrote for the George Washington University's International Affairs Review. Click on the embedded link in the title below or simply read it on this lovely blog!

Fear Not: An Independent Turkey Is Best For Both East and West

By Jesse Biroscak
Staff Writer
November 15, 2009

Turkey’s Justice and Development Party (AK Parti) was elected in 2002 on a platform of change, economic growth, and democratization. The party’s leader, Recep Tayyip Erdogan, had successfully cleaned up Istanbul as the city’s mayor only a few years prior. Yet many in Turkey, the European Union (EU), and the United States fear that the change negatively affects Turkey’s relationship with the West.

Since 1923, Turkey has tried to orient itself Westward after more than 600 years facing East under the Ottoman Empire. It became a secular, nationalist republic terrified of allowing religion to infiltrate its governmental structures. Each time a political party with Islamic values or an Islamist agenda came to power, it was overtaken or forced out of office by the military, which then assumed power in order to re-set the democratic process.

AK Parti represents another such political party for Turkey – its leaders represent former Islamist parties (now disbanded), and Erdogan spent time in prison for Islamist sympathies. The Turkish military and Western nations are watching carefully to see whether AK Parti is turning Turkey away from the West to reflect the party’s Islamist inclinations.

Accusations that AK Parti is anti-Western are buttressed by Prime Minister Erdogan’s emphatic statements condemning Israel, his recent visit to a contentious Iran, and renewed relations with Syria. The United States, which tends to align itself definitively, feels that Turkey is either “with us or against us.” But for Turkey - a country accustomed to bridging two continents and representing the crossroads of cultures and civilizations - alienating one side in favor of another would be foolish and shortsighted.

Turkey’s relationship with the West, and specifically with the United States, was born out of mutual need during the Cold War. Since the end of the Cold War, the lack of geographic proximity between the two coupled with the absence of key bridging factors (such as a large Turkish-American community, cultural affinity between Turkey and the West and/or significant economic partnership) has lead to a natural shift in the relationship. The strategic partnership between the two NATO allies is less critical without a common enemy. This evolving relationship, combined with rise of AK Parti, gives the country cause for a rapprochement with its Eastern neighbors. Turkey has every right to reject the will of Western governments, but it must not sacrifice its ties with the West in order to improve its relationship with the East.

It is not a contradiction to say that Turkey is opening itself up to the East, while remaining open to the West. The country is trying to assume its role not as the dividing line between Europe and Asia, but rather as the link joining the two together. Turkey’s actions, however, should neither be misinterpreted as ploys to infiltrate the Muslim World in order to aid the West, nor should they be interpreted as anti-Western. AK Parti is taking advantage of its non-Western and Islamist background to actively engage Turkey’s Eastern neighbors, advancing its own economic and political situation. It will no longer act as a Western puppet or buffer.

Western nations would be wise to encourage AK Parti and Turkey to continue participation in the NATO alliance and pursuit of EU membership. Unfortunately, two countries in Europe are not helping Turkey with its difficult balancing act: France and Germany. Both nations have voiced strong objections to allowing Turkey into the EU, and Turkey is both weary and wary of pushing for an improbable bid for accession. The West must understand that Turkey’s position at the crossroads of Eurasia allows it to have Western policies in mind when it attempts to influence anti-Western countries.

Prime Minister Erdogan claims, “Turkey is expanding its relations; it is not changing its direction. Our axis is obvious. I guess people cannot get rid of the Cold War mentality. Turkey may be extremely good friends with Syria, Iraq, Iran, Russia, Georgia and Armenia – with Greece or Bulgaria as well. This is neither against NATO nor can it be considered as a stance against any other country or a group of countries. We have to get rid of such limiting paradigms.”

The West’s relationship with Turkey is extremely valuable. Turkey’s newfound independence of thought and action is looked upon favorably by non-aligned countries in the East. Taking offense at Turkish efforts to be a part of both sides will only force Turkey to choose one side over the other. The West must not become an obstacle along Turkey’s path towards becoming an inter-regional interlocutor.

Turkey is a sovereign nation in a complicated location bridging two different ways of life. In order for both the East and the West to reap the maximum benefits of a positive relationship with Turkey, neither should force Turkey to downgrade the other. Turkey’s foreign policy under AK Parti has the potential to join East and West, encouraging peace, prosperity, and cooperation where the possibilities for such actions were formerly limited.

Jumping Jordanian

I’ve just come back from Jordan – what a beautiful country! It is something like the 10th poorest country in terms of its water resources, but that sure makes for some beautiful desert.

One of my fellow “villa”-mates, Emil from Denmark, and I started off on an early Tuesday morning last week, taking a “ser-VICE” (pronounced like in French, with the accent on the last syllable and the “I” like “ee”) to the bus station. We haggled for a good price and then waited an hour for more passengers to come. Such is life. We got to Amman and then got on a bus to Aqaba, which is the farthest point south in Jordan. We didn’t want to go there though, so we got off at a random checkpoint before Aqaba in order to hitchhike to Wadi Rum where Lawrence of Arabia based his rebellion. It was amazingly beautiful, peaceful, tranquil, isolated, and serene. It was a desert, just like how one would imagine a desert, but rather than large dunes, it had huge mountainous outcroppings that abruptly jutted out from the surrounding sands. We camped out under the stars for two nights – I haven’t seen so many stars in my entire life. There wasn’t a city around us for at least 50 miles – not a real city anyways, only small Bedouin villages without many lights to ruin the sky. It was also a new moon and so the sky was darker than usual. There was almost total silence except for the wind rustling through the nearby tent flaps. During the day, we toured around the desert in a modified Toyota Land Cruiser from the 1970s. It was rickety and felt like it would fall apart at any minute, but it held together long enough to get us into the deep desert and back. We saw wild camels, went rock climbing, and I did some front flips down the sand dunes. Fun stuff, but I got sand in my camera – currently at the repair shoppe.

After Wadi Rum, the history of which is told in The Seven Pillars of Wisdom, which I didn’t finish due to its excessively flowery, early 20th century British style, we continued on to Petra and Wadi Moussa, the closest city to the ruins. Petra was a big disappointment after the magnificence of Wadi Rum, yet it was still an amazing mountainous and desertified region. I also really enjoyed seeing the façade from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (one of my favorite movies). We hiked all day long throughout the ravines, which had cubes carved out of its sides in order to house the ancient Nabataean civilization. We attended (sort of) a Bedouin wedding with one of Emil’s mom’s associates that night, but it was really only sitting and eating with a bunch of men – no ceremony or music unfortunately. I guess that was one of the other nights.

The next morning (Friday by now), we took a bus back to Amman and then another to the Dead Sea and a place called Wadi Mujib. Wadi, by the way, means Valley in Arabic. So all these are “valleys”, but valley is certainly a non-standard term here. It could be anything from a shallow and desolate crack between two plateaus or a green oasis with a bustling brook or stream running through it. So Wadi Mujib was the latter and we hiked up the difficult trail along the stream that led to a big waterfall. There were some serious rock obstacles along the way and not all voyagers could complete the entire trek.

So we floated back down the river after the trek and then hopped over the freeway to bathe in the Dead Sea. All of our little cuts from the river trek stung so badly when we got into the 30% salinity water. Crazy salty! More than I remembered from my previous experience in Israel. We frolicked a bit, then covered ourselves with dead sea mud, dried in the sun, and then washed off in the nearby hot springs. Lovely time, but it was sooo hot. We didn’t have a place to stay that night, so we camped in a valley along the highway somewhere. Aka we put a couple towels on some sand in an inclining ravine between two mountains. We ate various canned foods: tuna, sardines, sweet corn (delish!), and olives. We finished the evening with a ½ of a pound cake each. We made a fire out of the little bit of kindling we could find and relaxed. Falling asleep was more difficult because the heat at 400m below sea level is quite suffocating. Somehow we did though, and woke up the next morning, re-hydrated with our lukewarm water, and hitched a ride back to Amman with a passing truck driver. We took 7 different vehicles on Saturday to get back to Damascus. In order: Truck to Amman, van to the bus station, car to a city near the border, taxi to the border station, another taxi to the Syrian bus station after we waited for my visa to come through (only 3 hours this time!), bus to Damascus bus terminal, and van to the Old City, where we walked the 5 blocks to our villa. Whew! We could’ve pushed it to 8 for the 5 blocks, but decided against it.

Heading to Lebanon on Thursday for 6 days, so expect another update in a little over a week.

Kitchen Kaboodle

I’ve been here over a week now and I will certainly fill-in many details about my life here over the coming weeks, I’ll share a small anecdote about cooking here, having just made my first attempt at cooking eggs, potatoes, and onions – generally a good gauge of how difficult things will be.

No: peeler or paring knife, scrambling bowl, frying pan, cutting board or surface.

Yes: dirty dishes (like years of dust and grime caked on), sauce pot (handmade out of aluminum by a 4 year old?), plastic stir-thingy, fork, plate/bowl, steel wool, 8-inch cutting knife.

I got to scrubbing and managed to clean a steep-rimmed, but still shallow glass cup to use for scrambling the eggs. The fork was being difficult and didn’t want to wisk the eggs into a fluff. Ok, no biggie, the eggs will be less fluffy than is ideal. Horror of horrors. Moving right along. I used the big knife to peel (slowly) and chop the potatoes and onions, using the plate/bowl as my perfectly ideal slippery surface – safety first. Cooked the onions and potatoes (45 minutes? Seriously? Yes.) and added the eggs, which each stuck to the bottom of my sauce pot like white on rice. 15 minutes later I had golden-y goodness in just over an hour. I worked harder for those two eggs than any other eggs I’ve ever eaten. Too long you say? Nay, I reply. It oriented me with the kitchen. I now know many of the quirks and hindrances of the facility, which I promptly reorganized and will be cleaning in the immediate future. I’m looking forward to my diet of eggs, pita, lentils, eggplant, and cucumber, possibly spiced w/pepper and cumin. I hope to come back looking like a Kenyan marathoner, complete with exposed ribs and a dark tan complexion. Unnecessary? Probably.

Perhaps a Turkey update next time. Perhaps.

Badlands Border Crossing

After almost two and a half months without posting anything on my blog (for a variety of reasons, two of the most significant being Spring Break 2009 and the end of the semester), I have decided to rekindle my relationship with the blogosphere and my loyal readers, however few you may be at this point. I will try to catch everyone up to this point over the next weeks, but unfortunately will not be uploading pictures. Blogger is blocked in Syria – oh yeah, I’m in Syria, but we’ll get to that in a bit – so I will be typing my blog postings in MS Word, then copying and pasting through the proxy server, which happens to move at 56k x 10-1,000,000,000,000,000,000 power. I am also adding “Syri-ack!” to the title page somewhere in commemoration of my new place of residence. Now that the format has been reestablished, we can reinitiate the updates and anecdotes. Pictures may come via Picassa links during blog posts or simply in August after I return to the States.

Let it begin:

I had decided in late 2008 to study Arabic in the Middle East after my semester abroad in Turkey. Which country though remained in question up until March or April of this year when my choices came down to Morocco, Syria, and Yemen. We all know (I hope) that Yemen is not currently the most hospitable destination for foreigners, even if it is one of the best places to study Arabic. OK, Yemen gone. Morocco and Syria both have good programs, but one was simply more expensive than the other. Can’t guess? Well, since you already know I’m in Syria, you’ve probably figured it out. Just to give you an idea of how cheap things are here: my rent for my room, utilities included, is $156; I can eat out for three meals a day (street food) for about $2, including chicken, ground beef, and/or cheese for two of those meals if I want. The third is falafel, which costs all of $0.50, so I could do $1.40/day if I wanted. Private Arabic lessons with a certified tutor with years of experience teaching Arabic will be the most expensive part of my 6 ½ weeks here at $10/hour.

I crossed the border between Turkey and Syria on June 11th, without receiving a visa from the Syrian Embassy in the US before I left the country spanning two continents. Syria requires that Americans (and ANY other nationalities?) obtain visas before coming to the country. I’m pretty sure that most other countries can just come and buy a visa at the border, but Americans are special because our last President named Syria as a member of “the Axis of Evil.” Anyways, I arrived without a visa and, as per many thoroughly researched forum websites, was told that I would have to wait – how long? Nobody knew. It all depended on how much of a threat I was in the eyes of the Damascene bureaucracy. After 4 ½ hours waiting in the long (football field?), hot (40 degrees Celsius? – I couldn’t spell fareinheight) marble-laden hallway, I was finally told that my visa had been ok’d and that I could now go to pay the whopping $16 price-tag. When compared with sending my passport back to the United States with a pre-paid envelope and money order (impossible to get in Turkey) so that the Syrian Embassy could send my passport back to Istanbul, all combined with paying $130 visa fee, 4+ hours at the border was well worth it.

I changed some Turkish Liras to Syrian Pounds (which are called Liras in Arabic…) and hitched a ride with an empty tour bus to Damascus. A/C on the tour bus, plus the lack of passengers was fantastic. I originally thought they were smuggling cigarettes or children or something, but then I realized that they weren’t when they had to go buy some (cigarettes!) at a local market. We arrived in Damascus at about 9pm and they dropped me off on the side of the freeway. A taxi rolled up about 2 seconds later and I was on my way to the Christian Quarter (hereon Bab Touma) of the Old City in Damascus. I met my teacher Basel at my now-favourite falafel shoppe and we went back to the “villa,” which certainly implies a certain elegance or wealth that has definitely lost its way here.

Arabic studying here I come!

From a married American woman... to you

A little break from our trip to Iraq for a bit of cultural education from Istanbul

I bought some slacks to attend the Alliance of Civilizations conference, which was held April 6 and 7 in Istanbul. They didn't come tailored, nor did the store in which I bought them HAVE a tailor. Nonetheless, I completed my purchase and went home. The next day, I went to a tailor nearby my apartment, deciding to stay and hang out because the entire process would take less than an hour. However, before I could take out my wallet to pay the tailor, he asked me (I'm pretty sure) if I liked Barack Obama. I replied that I did and that I even voted for the guy. He seemed to like that answer a lot because he proceeded to shake my hand quite vigorously and make me a cup of coffee while I waited.

A few minutes after I sat down to wait, he sprinted (as well as old men can sprint) outside the store to bring in this woman walking along the road. He began to speak rapidly in Turkish to her - she responded to him, turned to me, and said, "Hi. So you like Barack Obama?" In shock, I stammered that I did and that I hoped she did too. The conversation got much less awkward, but much more personal after that.

Sarah has been in Turkey for 5 years, is almost 27, and is married to the owner of a local cell phone store. She studied abroad here with Georgetown, got a Fullbright to come back, and then got her M.A. from Bogazici University (the same one I'm attending). Some things I learned during our hour and a half chit-chat in the tailor's shoppe. (remember? I like spelling things in a fun way!) We discussed the benefits of a squat toilet, as opposed to a western toilet; seemingly controlling husbands; cultural anthropology; and our career goals. I will only talk about the first two in this posting. If you want to know more about the latter two, send me an email or call my cell on skype - from Turkey - 0506 994 49 84.

I'm willing to bet that the majority, if not all of you reading this post feel that western toilets are much more civilized and sanitary and provide a more pleasant experience overall. Sarah was once 100% convinced that western were simply the right way to go, but has since made all efforts to convert to squat toilets. Her husband was 100% convinced that squatters were more appropriate. While I'm not completely converted, because I do having the ability to be lazy during my bathroom duties, I am definitely more in touch with the sentiments of the majority of the world's population - who all use squat toilets.

Why? You might ask. I'm almost positive that reasons 3 and 4 would be the ones you'd immediately guess, but not numbers 1 or 2.

Reasons for and against using a squat toilet as opposed to a western toilet (wikipedia):

• More sanitary

Think about everything that touches a western toilet. (Booty, upper thighs, your hands when you flush) Now think about everything that touches a squat toilet. (Soles of your feet...soles of your feet...ummm...soles of your feet) Ok. Now that we've got the basics out of the way, I'll delve into a slightly more uncomfortable subject. Skip the rest of this reason if you want to. I'm goin' in! Think about how you get clean using a western toilet - toilet paper. What does that do? It moves things around, but doesn't really wash anything off. Now think about how the majority of the world cleans itself using a squat toilet. Hand and water. Once you get over the idea of doing that (which you'd think wouldn't be too difficult since we do it in the shower every day - the only difference being that we've got water flowing all over our bodies, instead of our hand only), you'll feel like you are much more clean when you leave the bathroom - after washing your hands of course - just like normal.

Now I can understand not wanting to use your hand to clean yourself. I don't think I'd really be down with that - we're simply not accustomed to that idea. When I was in Dubai, there was a different system. There were both western and squat toilets, but instead of using toilet paper or your hand with some water on it, they put a hose with a special nozzle to the side of the toilet so that you can shoot a gentle stream of water when cleaning yourself. I think this is the best of both worlds. You use water to make sure that you're clean, but you don't have to use your hand! Fantastic. I'm sold. But wait, there's more.

• Better for your digestive tract
  
• Easier maintenance and less water usage
  
• Less costly to install (initially)
  

I think this post has gone on long enough. Until next time... the equivalent of Las Vegas in Iraq

36 Hours in Iraq - Touring with Burgis

By now I hope you've seen the photos from the trip. If you haven't, here's the link again.

Here's the link to Tim's photos. I'm not sure this last one works. If it doesn't, let me know and I'll see what I can do.

After 22 hours of traveling, we decided to get a full night's sleep, alotting 9 hours of shuteye. That didn't actually work very well and, not surprisingly, I slapped my alarm off at 10 am and woke up an hour later. At this point, we hadn't realized that Iraq is an hour ahead of Turkey. We were wasting so much time! We had woken up at noon! Aaaaafh;lk ; adikhgog - spazzing out!!! After about 30 seconds, we were over it. Tim slept like Iraq. (For all you foreigners reading this blog, just say it slowly and you'll get it.)

I really needed a shower (which was in the same "room" as the toilet) and I was craving some hot water. Loh and behold! Hot water!!!! Hallelujah! We each took a shower and got ready for our day in Iraq: camera? check. Water bottle? check. Money? check. Place to stash all the money we're not taking on our person? ummm. ummmm. nope. We settled on the bottom of my sleeping bag. Safe? I'm open to your thoughts loyal readers. Are there any better places in a hotel room with no safe or any cool, secretive drawers?

We had been walking around the streets of Iraq, still a bit amazed that we were actually in the country, when I decided to walk down some shady stairs to check out what was at the end of them. Not much. When we came back up to the street level, there was a guy there named Burgis.

From Iraq and Diyarbakir1

He asked us if we were Army Special Forces - we replied that we weren't, although I don't know how convinced he actually was. Of course we wouldn't say what we were, especially if we WERE Special Forces. We got over it pretty quickly. When I asked him what he would normally do today, he said, "Walk around. Hang out. Nothing much." Then he offerred to take us around Dohuk for the day. Since he didn't seem to have any other plans lined up, we took him up on his offer.

We walked around to the local mall (where things were surprisingly almost as expensive as in America), had a ridiculously large lunch at one of Burgis's favourite restaurants, and played a few games of pool in the local pool hall and card game centre. Pictures...again... online here and here
(different links). I would say that WHERE we went was not as important as simply walking around and experiencing a day in the life of an Iraqi Kurd. It was exhilirating to bargain with people in Arabic, take part in the day-to-day activities of your average male, and see what there is to see in a city claimed to be the most beautiful in Iraqi Kurdistan.

We decided to go to the local souq (market) to walk around, check out the wares, and feel like we were a part of the city. Tim and I both bought nifty red-checkered (sort of) scarves, and I bought an Iraqi soccer team short and jersey set. They're wicked sweet. As I said above, we weren't there to find or do anything specifically, but rather to simply enjoy the experience of Dohuk, Iraq.

As the day wore on, the effects of traveling for 22 hours straight the day before began to take their toll. The thought of an afternoon nap became more tempting than a glass of Jamison to a middle-aged Irishman who just lost a fight in the alleyway behind his local bar. (Roll with it, ok?) Going back to the hotel, we napped, got up, and were suddenly aroused by loud noises coming from the street! What was going on?!??!? We decided to get up to investigate the situation.

Next time - our trip up the mountain...

36 Hours in Iraq - First night

If you haven't been following along, shame on you. Just kidding. Check out the photos of the trip to Iraq. 

Tim and I have arrived in Dohuk, Iraq at this point. While we were quite hungry, we decided that it was more important to find appropriate sleeping arrangements. In my broken Arabic, I asked the taxi driver to take us to a hotel for which we had gotten a referral at the Turkish-Iraqi border. $55 a night for a double room. Too much we decided. We had the driver go to the most popular area of Dohuk and we started hunting for a room. The first place had a room, but it didn't have hot water. They told me that they did know of a place with hot water though. A five minute walk later and we were checking into the Shemal Palace Hotel. I'm going to be childish. Ready? Shemal is almost "shemale"!!! Ha ha ha! Giggle giggle. 

Moving right along, a 16-year old receptionist checked us in after we saw the room. We found out that it was $22.50 a night for a double (we received a triple room for our first night. Sweet.). He took our passports to hold them, which is standard practice in Turkey and Iraq. However, it was quite unsettling not to see our passports for a full 24 hours while they kept them. It wasn't insurance against us not paying because we paid upfront. I think they like to check out all our cool stamps. 

After handing the 16-year old a $50 for the room, he gave me back 7,000 Dinars. He showed me that the dinar-dollar exchange rate was 115 to 1. One Dollar = 115 Dinars. I took  the calculator to figure out why he had given me 7,000 Dinars. With his exchange rate, that came out to around $60.86. I spent the next 10 minutes trying to communicate that I didn't want change in Dinars for my $50 and also wondering why I had been paid $10 for staying at their hotel. Tim and I only figured it out the next day. If you want to find out, you'll just have to read on... such power I have! I gave up and wondered what I would do with my newly found wealth. Eat!!

We walked back to the main drag from the Shemal Palace and took a stroll to find some grub. We saw a place selling what looked like pizza. We decided to have a snack before heading to an internet cafe to tell our loved ones that we had survived the border crossing. There's the friendliest pizza guy I've ever met. He had a really raspy voice from a)inhaling too many fumes from the pizza oven or b)chain smoking while he baked? You decide. Either way, he was great and comp'd our meal the first night. We made sure to go back on our second and final night to order some serious pizzas to pay him back for his generosity. 

From Iraq and Diyarbakir1

After we ate, we headed to the internet cafe. Skype access, email, the works. It was a little slow, but we were quite pleased with the results, especially considering that we were in Iraq. 

We left the internet cafe and ate at a restaurant serving chicken, rice, pita, and salad. It was welcome fodder (an English word w/its origins in Arabic by the way) for two weary travelers. When we got up to pay and they told us that it was 6 Dinars each, we looked at each other, then down at my 7,000 Dinars and thought, "there's no way that life is this cheap here." I asked the guy what the exchange rate was: 1,150 Dinars for 1 dollar. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. (Moment of epiphany) The guy at the hotel had divided everything by 10, so I got $6 back from my $50 for the hotel room, explaining why the receptionist felt ok about giving me my change (not actually $60). Then I realized that this restaurant guy was taking even more zeros off of the bill. He meant 6,000 Dinars each. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. So our bill per plate with a ton of chicken, rice, and salad was about $4-5. Great! While I was a bit surprised that food wasn't as cheap as Turkey, it was still quite cheap, filling, and tasty. 

Following our speedy efforts in the consumption of poultry (time being midnight by our clock, 1am by Iraqi time), we goofed around a bit before crashing hard. Up at 4.30am in Istanbul for our flight to Diyarbakir. Twenty-two hours later, falling asleep in Iraq. Who woulda thunk it?

Check out the videos on the web album. 

Next: Our first (and only) full day in Iraq.

Trip to Iraq: Badlands and Bordertowns

Happy Turkish Daylight Savings Time! 

Yes, apparently we do it too! Didn't think so after the change in the U.S. came and went, but since I woke up at "11:30 a.m." the other morning, I guess we're just a bit behind schedule or something. 

If you want to know what happened so far on the trip to Iraq: post #1, scroll on down to read it. 

Tim and I are now on the luxury coach to Silopi, the border town on the Turkish side of Iraq. On our 5 hour journey to Silopi we got to see a lot of the scenery of southeastern Turkey, as well as some of the shadier elements of border towns combined with truck stops. Interesting combination. We changed busses in the town of Cizre (Chiz-rey) from Diyarbakir. It was really close to the Syrian border and definitely the most shady place we visited during our entire 48 hour journey. As soon as we got off the bus to change to the other bus, 10 local taxi drivers practically assaulted us (that was a common theme on this trip by the way). Little boys trying to carry our bags, other boys and girls putting on their 'sad' faces and begging for money, lots of taxi drivers arguing over who would get to drive us, even though we weren't taking a taxi... Then, after we had somehow communicated that we wouldn't be using their services, we were loading our bags onto the bus and it started pulling away - while all the doors are still open! Tim and I tossed our bags inside, almost got hit by the bus, and scooted inside the door as some other people started yelling at the bus driver for being an idiot. We took the front seat to stay abreast of all incidents and conflicts. I guess the bus driver was really in a hurry - leaving without everyone on the bus sure got things moving faster though. Nice tactic buddy. It worked as he wanted, albeit with a bit more yelling than was perhaps ideal. 

The same thing happened in Silopi, except there were fewer taxi drivers and they were more aggressive. Two definitely almost seriously fought over our fare. We sided with the third guy who wasn't fighting at all. $50 total for our taxi to the border - 8pm and dark. Three checkpoints along the way. No pictures for sure. It felt like we were about to enter a war-zone. 

We crossed the border with one taxi and our driver (Turkish/Kurdish) negotiated with his Iraqi counterpart for our Iraqi portion of the trip. Another $30 to Dohuk - now 11pm because of the time change. The Iraqi taxi driver decided to take a shortcut by the way - no lights on this 1.5 lane road, going about 110 mph, no seatbelts, highbeams on of course. We only encountered 2 or 3 cars before entering the city where there was another checkpoint. The Kurdish Forces have it goin' on. They're fairly thorough and keep things both moving and safe at the same time. I was definitely impressed. 

Check out the web album for Iraq and Diyarbakir

More to come about our 36 hours in Iraq

Finally some action

Finally an update. 3/25/09

I apologize to all those who have been checking back dilligently. (Jeanne - thank you for your loyalty)

So I think that I'll update on my trip around Istanbul and my trip to Gallipoli and Troy in future posts. This one will be devoted to my trip to the southeastern part of Turkey and my voyage to the town of Dohuk in Iraqi Kurdistan. 

How's a mini-series sound. A few episodes of 600-800 words each? Agreed? Okie dokie. 

I had originally planned to go to Diyarbakir, the capital of Turkish Kurdistan, for the weekend falling on the Iranian/Kurdish New Year, Newroz (3/21/09). It was slated to be fantastic by a friend who had studied abroad in Turkey during spring of last year. A day after I booked my flight, however, Tim, another undergrad study abroad here, suggested that we change our primary destination to Iraq instead. Shocked, I wondered aloud how we would do such a thing - visas, transportation, death - you know, minor details. 

He told me about a website called backpackiraq.blogspot.com, so we went to it to check it out. Loh and behold! Iraq actually sounded feasible. 

So we planned out our trip, crossed our i's and dotted our t's, and left Ataturk International Airport in Istanbul at 6.45am on Thursday. We arrived in Diyarbakir a couple hours later to meet Tim's friend Mehmet, who graciously met us at the airport, took us to the bus station (across town) to buy our bus tickets to the border, and then showed us to a great breakfast stop for some nosh. Our bus wasn't leaving for a few hours, so we ate in peace and tried to get Mehmet to eat some food too - he's a fairly thin guy, so we wanted to beef him up American style. He wasn't having it because he'd already eaten breakfast. Mehmet - I'm gonna take you out to a big dinner next time I see you. 

The time to go to the bus arrives and we head on over. We see a few busses around, most of which are the normal 50 passenger size "luxury" busses. There are also a few smaller (20 person) shuttles. Suddenly, another (smaller) shuttle pulls up. There are already a bunch of people in it, but Mehmet tells us that it was our bus. We get in with our backpacking backpacks and attempt to find a couple seats. I asked a fellow passenger how long the trip would be - 4 hours he replied. I thought to myself, "Well... I guess I better jostle for the most comfortable position, cause this is gonna be a loooooong ride. Couldn't see out the windows, couldn't tell what was going on, speed bumps really sucked. If you've ever been on a "chicken bus" in Guatemala or any other Central American country, you know the type of feeling I'm talking about. Ready for Iraq baby!

We traveled about 10 minutes through town and then stopped. Now, I've been on Turkish busses before, and they don't like to go long distances in one stretch. They take rest stops early and often, but this was unprecedented. 10 minutes? Not out of the city yet? I thought. I guess this is what you get for 20 TL ($13). Then I realized that everyone was getting out and going to a larger luxury bus... oh. Whoops. My bad. I took my bag, put it underneath, and hopped on. Tim and I both got two seats each to ourselves. Score! We departed a few minutes later for Silopi, the town on the Turkish side of the Turkey-Iraq border. 

Next time - The bus ride and border crossing. Fun times with the local taxi cartel and pictures! No pics of getting on the bus to Silopi...

Misundercommunication and Sharing

Wakey wakey!

It's time for another post. Yay!

This time, it will be about the joys of living in a country where people don't speak your language quite as well as you'd hope...and sharing.

About 1 1/2 hours ago I was reading some articles on the Political Economy of Developing Nations for the class of the same title when I began to fall asleep. I was on my bed, so it wasn't completely unexpected. I decided that I had been relatively productive today, so I put my reader aside, set my alarm, and passed out. My alarm went off (seemingly FAR too quickly), so I turned it off and kept on sleeping. Suddenly, I woke up, thinking, "Oh no! I've overslept my mini-nap. I'm going to be soooooo tired!" Lo and behold, I had slept for an hour and was just entering a hearty REM cycle. Sleep had come over me and, much like a scene from the original Invasion of the Bodysnatchers circa 197?, it wasn't letting go. I forced myself out of bed and was immediately struck by an intense and powerful craving for something - anything - sweet. I've been eating pretty health-ily here and don't have much in the way of sweets - only peanut butter and jelly really, so I definitely didn't want that.

I opened my door and saw one of my sweet roomates named Turkan (Turk-anne). Following her into the kitchen, I plopped down into an uncomfortable molded plastic chair like the pathetic shell of a man to which I had been reduced and said, "Turkan, I need something sweet. Do you have something sweet that I can have?" She acted immediately, bending down to open one of her food drawers, popped up, and presented me with a pre-packaged, single-serving of Nescafe Cafe Latte. I looked up at her and said, "So do you have anything sweet?" She replied, "Sweet." Dejectedly, I accepted my fate and continued to sit slouched in my faded-yellow chair.

Turkan saw how grim I looked and noted, "Fest weekend?" meaning, "festive." I replied that it hadn't really been, but the weekend had indeed been fast at least. "Well, it's cold outside. So be careful, ok?" I raised my eyes to hers. In her final gesture of compassion before leaving the kitchen, she gazed at me with pity and said, "It's ok, Jess. You will be better."

As she left, I sighed a massive sigh, wondering where I had misspoken. I couldn't figure it out, so I made myself an open-faced PB & J, topping it off with some cold milk. It was delicious.



To continue any semblance of a story right now would possible be too taxing for my tired corpse. Thus, I will simply say that I have only experienced extreme generosity in Turkey, not only towards myself as a newcomer to the University neighbourhood, but also between the Turks themselves. As I rode home yesterday from my first football (American football) game (I'll save that for another post), I saw many players taking out packets of cookies, bananas, oranges, chocolate, candy bars, and chips. Each one possessing such wonderous post-game fodder opened his sachet, ate some, and then proceeded to offer it to others in his immediate viscinity. Guys would take a bite or a handful and pass the baggie to the next person. The original provider would get his food back in a significantly smaller state, but had substituted his loss with a variety of other snacks from fellow teammates.

I have been offerred parts of peoples meals on numerous occasions, even when there is obviously only enough for one person. Sharing seems to be a part of the culture here, and I hope that if I only take away one thing from this country, it is a sense that sharing with those around you does two things: it builds a sense of community and it maintains an equality seldom seen in semi-developed or developed nations of today. I think we can all learn something from the Turks on this subject.

It's raining, it's poring, the old man is snoring

Hello hello,

After a brief hiatus, I have largely nothing to report.

It has been raining here fairly consistently over the past week - although last night it snowed! It was well over freezing temps (39 degrees F), but we had some serious flake-age. I went out to our balcony to check it out and saw quarter to half-dollar sized flakes falling on my trusty zippered hoodie. I asked my Turkish roomates how often it snowed in Istanbul - over the past five years? Maybe 2-3 times.

In other news, I decided to go out to Taksim: THE place to go in Istanbul if you want crowds, lots of labyrinth-like shady alley ways, and shops in which to buy any trinket imaginable. As ususal, I was hungry as we arrived to the main drag, so we stopped off at Burger King - think outside the bun (wait, that's not it) - to get some guaranteed fodder. No, that's not a thizz-face, just a gangsta' "I love eating two all-beef patties" face. Soydan on the left side of the photo.

I've created a web album on Picassa to see the rest of the photos from the night. Some highlights include Sterling's deer in headlights, Soydan's chit-chat with his absent girlfriend, a group toast, and a crowded Istanbul club. There's also a movie in there somewhere (fourth from the end) with sound of some of the Turkish dance music. Pretty cool and high energy.

What's wrong with this country: a mini-series

In this edition of "What's Wrong With This Country?" we will be investigating a few items: tomato sauce, silverware, and oranges.

I shall begin with a question: Do you think the picture below is tomato sauce? Domates, by the way, are tomatoes. Say it out loud, you'll get it. The word right below "Domates" is pronounced, "Sal-CHA-zih." Go ahead... take your best guess.

If you thought that it WAS tomato sauce, you'd be wrong. "But why?" you might ask. "It's definitely tomato something, and salchasih sounds like salsa or sauce, kind of." That would be the logical thing to think. I once thought the same as you, my gentle reader. Boy was I wrong.

Salchasih means the equivalent of "paste" apparently. So when I went to make pasta (which means "cake" in Turkish by the way), I scooped out a lump of tomato paste as my ready-made sauce. The pasta was quite pungent when I finally ate it after the paste was a bit diluted.

To review: salchazih = paste, pasta = cake, macaroniye = pasta

Side note: The first scoop gathered on the knife I was using to put the paste on my pasta fell off of the knife onto my foot/sandal. It almost went in slo-mo. I could hear the sound of a bomb dropping, followed by a SPLAT! on the big toe of my right foot. Ah tomato paste. It came right off because it was so darn thick.

Silverware: Why was I using a knife to "spoon" sauce out of a jar onto my pasta? Don't they have spoons in Turkey? Or even forks? You're right, reader. A spoon or a fork would have been a wiser choice. Unfortunately, there weren't any.

That, folks, is my silverware "drawer." The rest of our 3 forks and 2 spoons (6 people in my apartment) are in the sink. I don't know if this is a country-wide phenomenon, but it does make one wonder.

Something else that made me wonder what is really going on here in Istanbul happened yesterday. I had been feeling a little scurvy-ish, much like the brother of a friend a couple years ago, so I bought some oranges to infuse my body with a bit of good 'ole fashioned THC - I mean, Vitamin-C. I registered for classes yesterday, which needed to be done on campus for a variety of reasons that I won't get into right now, so I packed myself a sandwich and an orange as a snack to tide me over until I returned home. When I finally began to peel the orange, I found that it had a thick skin, which only came off in bits the size of a dime or a nickel. While that was annoying, it did not compare to what happened after I had completed my task.

I finally had a peeled orange in my sticky, juicy hands and I was looking forward to eating it. I took a bite - and lo and behold! It tasted like Tang (c). Yes, the powdered orange beverage! I had found a Tang-flavoured orange. Upon further investigation, I found that were I to add some carbonation, I could have a healthy orange soda - a drink quite popular here in Turkey.

My question to you: Which came first? The orange or the orange soda? I'm betting on the latter.

Next time, how Turkish girls gossip. Clue: it's not around a Ouija board.

Mr. Masticulator's Neighbourhood Part 1

I've decided to use British spelling for some words because I feel like they're more interesting that way. (See title of post - more interesting, non?) Oh, and French spelling for others because they're more hoity-toity as such. (See parenthetical statement prior to this one.)

Rather than detail an experience cooking, which I certainly found funny and still may blog about, I will post some pictures of my neighbourhood and my University: Bogazici (Boh-AH-zichi) University. Bogazici is the Turkish word for Bosphorus, the name of the strait separating Europe and Asia.

The first photo is right outside my apartment. Yes, the street is one way. The University main gates are about 2 minutes walk from here.


This next photo is a shot of the lovely hunk of
trash that my neighbourhood accumulates
everyday because we're technically in illegal housing. "What does that mean," you ask? "Oh!" I say.

Nothing much. Just that 40 years ago, the Government did nothing when this shanty-town became the thriving urban center it is today, even though the landlords don't pay any taxes. So we don't get garbage service either. No biggie. They really do pick it up anyways, but only after the cats have had their way with it. Kitteh! Tweak - you'd have a field day with this type of mental stimulation. Echo, you'd probably shoot me a look right now.

More photos of the ridic view from my school and some random shoppes in my hood.

Why lead when you can follow?

Yo!

Since I'm so outgoing and a natural born leader, you should all follow my blog. Top right corner "Follow this blog" will allow you to keep tabs on new posts and find the blog easily, especially when you're trashed and can't quite spell "eurasianamerican," but you'd like to see what's up where the continents collide - no, not India and the Himalayas. That's a subcontinent. Istanbul, get it? Asia, Europe, collision? sort of?

Oh well. Become a follower anyways. It'll boost my ego (like it needs boosting).

O'Doyle Rules!

It begins...

everyone!

This is my first post of the blog - EurasianAmerican.blogspot.com -
I thought that rather than shoot off emails that might get lost in the fray or instigate unwanted responses, I'd create a blog so folks could check up on me at their leisure, posting and reading as (you) please.

I landed in Istanbul at Ataturk Int'l Airport on Wednesday, February 4th...although it took us a while to take off. We were stuck at JFK for 2 hours... in the plane. Have I mentioned - well, no I guess I haven't yet - whatever - so Lufthansa is a lovely airline. God bless the Germans for their precision engineering, snazzy yellow plastic trim, and in-seat personal monitors. What happened to being on time!!! Fuc*ers. Both of my take-offs were late. I thought that Germans could control the weather (ice storms and low-lying fog? wtf!) Anyways, I almost got through 2 movies before we took off. Can't remember what they were though...obviously not very memorable. A positive note, however: I had 4 seats to myself!! kick ass! I slept for the majority of our flying time, completely laid out across my row and flaunting it at every opportunity to my lowly economy class compatriots. Ah, isn't it great being royalty?

When we landed in Munich though, I had already missed my plane. I was efficiently booked on a later flight, which was fantastic. One problem: Munich was covered in fog...another hour delay on the plane after a 2 hour layover and one hour regular outside-the-plane delay. Can you follow this at all? I'm beginning to lose track myself.

Whatever though! I met a guy on the plane (obviously - no, not that I talk to everyone. I only talk to men, duh) who goes to Bogazici U and lives nearby my apartment. He took one shuttle and a bus with me (as my personal guide) and walked me to my apartment. Nice guy - named... Onur (like Honor, but oh-noor). I met my roomates - nice people, although there are 6, sometimes 7 of us living in a 4BR. I'll explain later.

We all went for a Kebap (yes, a "p") and then came back to my room. Assuming that those reading this know me, guess what the first thing I did was: rearrange. The bed was using up too much space - moved it to a difft wall, switched the desk to the other side of the room, and then connected to the internet. So here I am. Installment #1 of Jesse in Turkey. It's been almost a week since I left, so I've been sitting here on my ass learning Turkish and exploring Istanbul a bit.

I also decided to join the (American) football team and cook my own food. More details to come!