When Will I just Love?

I work part-time at Lush in Cherry Creek Mall.  While closing up shop around 9 o’clock there are still shouts and giggles coming from the first floor.  If you gaze over the balcony you can see that there are children running around playing on the Looney Toons monuments made into slides and mini-mountains.  Around the outer edge of the play area there typically is a circle of women chatting away with one another.  They are beautiful women all wearing head coverings with long garments from head-to-toe.  I feel ashamed writing this now as I think about these women.  I have not stopped in all my life to question who they are and what they are like.  I have put up my own veil in my heart to even consider, humanistically, who these people are. Sadly, tragically, regretfully I know I am not alone. 

There has been a rift between Americans and the Islamic world—we know this and yet we just sit with it.  For 12 years we have allowed complacency to be our comfort rather than understanding that September 11^th was done by individuals with malice in their hearts.  I have been learning more about Islam and how varied it can be even among itself but at its core is peaceful—does this sound familiar to anyone?  Christians fight constantly over themselves about who has better doctrine, who has the appropriate liturgy, who is saved, who is going to hell, and who should lead.  I’m honestly so fatigued of it all.  My overarching question mostly for myself (but I encourage you to take it in your own hearts) is “When will I just love?”  It brings tears to my eyes right now realizing that I don’t love enough.  When I’ve looked over the balcony upon these women I have chosen to not break status quo but to stand upright and look the other way.

I guess it’s also important to understand the why behind the wearing of hijab (the head scarf), and even then it depends on the individual.  Motivation is at the heart of the garment—a choice to be modest for the religious devout and a political statement for those who are not.  If I were to compare this to something in more relatable terms in the U.S. it would be that of a demeanor.  We don’t wear an item that serves the same purpose, but we do however wear a “personality.” There is a lingo one can use which many refer to as “Christianese” and it embodies the values of a “good-Christian-woman” or a “Proverbs 31 woman.”  Christians use this language as an archetype to fit a standard, but often times it ends up being a wishy-washy-bleach-blond-middle-class-suburban-cookie-cutter person.  Many do this to fit in with the group, but many other embody these ideals because of a sincerity to be modest and pious.  If our motives are to project something that is not sincere then it is the same as lying.  Pause!—I’m trying to be communicative in my comparison and not be just a Christian-basher—so, please, do not misunderstand my words and then message me that I’m sinning in some way.  We should all be critical of that which is insincere in our culture because insincerity leads to a lot of misunderstanding and shame. 

Like the United States, Turkey has regions of higher conservativeness.  Istanbul, being the “New York” of Europe, is much more liberal in open-mindedness, whereas the rest of the country (to my understanding from books and scholars I’ve been lectured by) increases in conservativeness from west to east.  I have sensed a difference between Ankara and Konya in contrast with Istanbul.  The women wear hijab in the two former much more than the latter.  Many of these women will wear these scarves because the current Prime Minister has been suggesting it.  He is associated with a conservative political party and in comparison to the U.S. it would be like how George Bush had the support of the “religious right” which is a group of people that support school prayer and federal funding for religious groups.  His policies are motivated by his faith, but also by his ego (and more than likely his corruption).  The wealthy businessmen who benefit from his policies and legislation have been showing political alignment by having their wives and daughters wear hijab.  All the while they are sporting midriff shirts with low-cut skinny jeans (the wives and daughters, not the businessmen—well, maybe SOME businessmen).  This has become contentious among groups in Turkey—and given the recent protests we can see that there is a lot of opinion about who Turkey is and isn’t. 

Now, coming back to my own sight—I’ve never been in a predominantly Muslim country before, and many of you who are reading this may relate perfectly.  The past 3 weeks have changed my perspective.  My own veil is coming down and my complacency is beginning to diminish toward viewing these people as something “foreign.”  They are hearts embodied.  I am a heart embodied.  You are a heart embodied.  If we choose to continue to stand behind our own veils of American flags and “We will never forget”-s then we are choosing to be less than human.  What makes us so distinct among creatures is our ability to love and reason.  Without a healthy combination of both, we simply won’t understand each other.  I’m looking forward to having conversations with my own students about things which make us feel uncomfortable and challenging them to push into it a little more.  I’m pushing into my own discomfort and I leave you with the question again, “When will I just love?”

Sunsets and Miscommunication

I’m currently sitting under a sunset sky that is full of color. I have a great vantage point from an open roof café at Yeditepe University.  This is my home for the week.  The university has graciously accepted us as guests and put us up in dorm rooms with access to students, lectures, and all of the wild dogs one could ever want.  Yes, I said wild dogs—they are much like the homeless in Denver: they eat your food out of trashcans, wear strange piercings, and have gorgeous dreadlocks.

When we first got here I was a little stressed out because it was a whirlwind of waking up early with little sleep the night before because a wedding went until about midnight blaring music out my window.  There was little introduction to what was going on, and my dorm room smelled like a build up of European B.O. that I just couldn’t handle.  Its okay, apparently all I needed was a nap for 3 hours to remedy everything. 

We’ve had a few lectures primarily about the education system here in Turkey and contemporary Turkish culture.  Both were really GREAT! The education one was surprisingly good too because our lecturer was in a car accident and a substitute lecturer graciously filled her spot.  We asked a lot of questions and in the end we came to some conclusions that while there are some differences in procedures in the education here in Turkey—we are facing similar issues such as special education, equal opportunities for the rich and poor, and diverse language instruction.  Its comforting knowing we’re all a bit messed up, but in the end we care that kids have opportunities to grow into who they will be. 

We were able to be done with lectures by 3 in the afternoon and booked it to the pool.  Surprisingly, as a whole, the group were still fairly scholarly.  Amid sunbathing, and dunking each other we managed to get some reading in.  When I say we I mean mostly Lindsey, but hey…she likes me riding on her coattails.

We’ve met some Americans who are studying at Yeditepe University for the summer from Tennessee and Michigan.  They’re nice!  They’ve given us some guidance as to how to navigate ourselves around the city.  Hence us ending up at a nice little bar up the hill.  I probably had 3 too many Efes (the local beer which is also the name of the historical city Ephesus), but you never know when I’ll be back in Istanbul. 

I just tried calling to ask about getting a tattoo while I was here.  The lady who picked up didn’t speak much English.  She said that it was the operator so I asked for Tattoo Istanbul.  She replied back to me, “Uhh…what is tadu?”  I told her to hold on for a moment while I pulled up Google translate—“Uhm, ‘trampet çalma’?!?”

“OHHH…Musical instra-mints!!” 

“No, no, no…its like…art on the body…”

“Oh oh oh!! You want fitness?!”

I laugh and said, “No! Like paint under the skin…”

She laughs and says, “Paint under skeeen? I do not know this…”

At this point, we’re both laughing out loud and she says that she will get someone who speaks more English.  The man answered and when I tried explaining it to him he said that it was Yeditepe University and I needed to try a different phone number—they didn’t do tattoos here.

This is why I love traveling—hilarious interactions because of miscommunication.  I used to be frustrated by them, but they are by far some of my favorite experiences in life. 

On that note, I’m going to take my camera and walk around Istanbul capturing more Turkish textures.  I hope you’re having a great day.

Turkish Passion, Education, and Tattoos

After strolling in from dinner last night loud music begins to just sweep over the entire hotel.  From the pool area (which all rooms have a balcony that face the pool) a wedding begins to break out in dancing with a live band on a stage.  Holy moly, I wasn’t expecting that—and they were JUST starting at 10:00 p.m.  Who knew what time all of this was going to end.  Thankfully, it was only until midnight, but many of us in the group were tired enough to sleep through the bass bumping that resonated the hotel into vibrations.  This honestly didn’t seem very out of place for my understanding of the Turks so far—they’re just passionate and do what Turks do.  It takes a lot to endure overlapping dynasties, empires, and wars to come out to where they are today—which this is why the protests are a big deal for current Turkish society.  The protest is not over the potential bulldozing of a relatively small city park with a few trees.  It’s a stand against imposing tyrannical governance from the conservative religious party amid a society that was founded less than 100 years ago under a sweeping reform of secularism and freedom.  Mustafa Kemal Atatürk was, by agreed upon standards, a dictator—but was different than a Stalin, Mussolini, or even Hitler because his strong handed political reforms established economic stability, successful educational reform, higher literacy, and freedoms which the Turks hadn’t been granted before under the Ottoman Empire.  Its for this reason that Atatürk is framed in LITERALLY every classroom we visited earlier this week, from review mirrors, and even in restaurant bathrooms creepily inspiring you to pee freely.  The Turks are not ashamed of who they are, and embrace their history with pride and patriotism.

So, I’ve been passionate-less enough to hide myself away in my hotel room at every chance because I’ve needed time to just think and be.  Sorry if this caused any worry among you, but I didn’t have anything else to give except energy for my own needs.  This week was full of lectures from some of the most intelligent and globally connected people I will probably ever meet.  This goes from scholars of environmental issues, women’s issues, international relations, and even people who served in the parliament or advise officials such as THE Prime Minister of Turkey and to NATO.  I am a mere Spanish teacher.  What the baklava am I doing being privy to such world changers?  These people have their hands in how countries relate to each other through keeping peace and prosperity while I’m back at home teaching “¿Cómo estás?” to children who poop their pants.  Don’t get me wrong.  I love my poopie-pant kindergartners like there is no tomorrow, but I am on a whole other level, as in subterranean, compared to these geniuses who think in the clouds.  As I sit-and-get through the lectures I keep sketching in my notebook just so I can contain my mind a little bit.  It helps me focus on their words if I can do something with my hands—Maybe its adult onset ADD…I don’t know.  Anyway…I use my pen to outline the shapes of the speakers’ eyes, ears, ties, and crooked glasses.  I’m realizing that this is my place in the world—to take the great ideas of other people and to let others see it.  That’s what a teacher is—a learner along with the students who can lead them to finding out more about the geniuses’ discoveries in the world.  I’m content with being a non-genius, but I wish I could take a shot of their enthusiasm and motivation at times when all I can do is just be self-centered. 

We’re always doing a lot—lets just get that out of the way.  The past week has involved us visiting two private schools that are providing examples to the country for more successful student achievement both in examinations and university completion.  The schools were, of course, phenomenal and had facilities and educational philosophies that offered incredible opportunities even for American standards.  I sincerely appreciate being able to visit these schools—we were treated like honored guests.  However, I work in a public school system and wanted to observe what is going on in that sector.  When Americans visit another country, in my experience, the locals want to show you the best they have to offer because of some perception that we’ll be disappointed in seeing anything less.  This is both an honor and yet something a little disappointing.  Its disappointing because there is a huge disparity between the public schools and the private schools especially in the primary years.  Students go to school for 4 hours (either in the morning or the afternoon) during elementary school in a public school compared to twice the amount of time for the private schools we visited.  I get that private schools are an option, but when we look at it through the lens of fairness—it simply ISN’T.  Those with financial means get to learn more than those who are poor.  I take great issue with this no matter the country. To allow those with money to always have greater advantage over the poor in a country should be seen as a great woe.  All brains have the capacity to learn and if privilege is the only difference between passing the exam, which determines one’s destiny, then it is simply injustice.  Immanuel Kant, a German philosopher, posed that “"We can judge the heart of a man by his treatment of animals.” I would argue that we could judge the heart of a country by her treatment of her poor citizens.  I don’t know how to fix this issue even on a local level, but I know I want all children to have the same opportunity to live in their calling and to contribute to society in a meaningful way. 

The Prime Minister of Turkey, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, was at our hotel for a conference earlier this week.  There were Turkish secret service agents everywhere and, to be honest, it was a bit off-putting.  The secret service agents would flood certain areas of the hotel and with everything that’s been happening with the protesting of Erdoğan’s leadership it just made me uneasy. 

Many of you have heard of King Midas.  No?—well let me remind you.  He was the King that for a while had the ability to turn things to GOLD with his touch, but it ended up being a curse.  Follow a cartoon to have a better version told to you. Anyway, the ancient Phrygians (who were King Midas’ people) would build tombs made of Juniper trees and then build a mountain above it.  They could be compared to the pyramids in Egypt.  These tombs were preserved nearly perfectly because of a layer of stone outside of the wooden tomb, and tunneling into the man-made mountain has retrieved amazing artifacts.  We had a tour given by the lead archaeologists who have been working on this project for 23 years! Again—amazed!  We went into this man-made mountain and got to see the OLDEST WOODEN BUILDING IN THE WORLD.  It. Is. 3000. Years. Old. Wow. Wow. WOW!

Our time in Ankara is closing.  We leave early Monday morning on a flight to Istanbul.  We’ll be located at Yeditepe University (on the Asian side away from Taksim Square where the protests have been occurring) in dorm rooms for a week.  I’m looking forward to this leg of the trip because we should be able to interact with some college students who are taking summer classes and potentially make some friends.  I have every intention to do the following: sit in a café for hours learning Turkish, exploring the city, and getting a tattoo.  Wait…what? Don’t worry mom and dad I’ll be fine and its just a tattoo of a naked girl on my forearm.  No big deal.

I love you all and I wish you could experience what I’m experiencing.  Shoot, I would love to just have a glass of Rakı with you.  So, instead you’ll have to just enjoy my photographs.  Have you noticed my focus on Turkish textures? Boom.

Love is All

I’m sitting on my tour bus with the window cracked while fresh air is blowing on my face.  The sun is casting gold on everything it seems.  We’re in rural Turkey traveling to see the old capitol of the Hitites and I can see the locals’ farmland for miles upon miles.  This may be selfish, but the thought comes to mind that this is all for me.  When I say me, I guess I don’t really mean JUST me, but that I’m included in the whole of mankind—that I have value in the beauty I see around me.  So often I doubt that I have anything truly worthwhile to offer the world, but when I look out of my window right now I only hear, “You are.”  What does that even mean? I’m moved to tears by it though—trying to cover them up with my sunglasses doesn’t really work.  Maybe it’s the notion that the converse “I’m nobody” isn’t true—a sense of purpose and a sense of being.  I GET to be alive, and not only that—I am spoiled.  For 29 days my hotel rooms, three meals, entrance fees to sites, flights, ground transportation and so much more is completely paid for.  This is literally thousands and thousands of dollars being spent on me. I don’t know if there are any words to do justice for the gratitude I have.  Thank you isn’t sufficient.  I’m honored doesn’t feel satisfactory.  I think a sigh of awe is closer but still isn’t enough.  My published words are pennies in comparison to the wonder I’m experiencing.  Turkey is splendor among extravagance—one of the most remarkable places I’ve ever travelled. 

I don’t have much to say in way of what we’re doing, but more about what I’m feeling from it all.  I picked up a book at an open air museum where Christians, during the Roman Empire, were forced to live in underground caves carved in a canyon.  The book is about Mevlânâ Rumi, a sufi poet/philosopher/lover/leader/whirling Durvish/man, and his affect on life 8 centuries ago through present day.  I think Rumi and I have been cut from the same cloth when I was stitched together because of the would-be subtitle to the movie of his life—“Love is all”.  I’ve known for about a year or a bit more that my soul’s truest name is something like “lover of people”.  I can’t help but feel drawn to do this with most people I meet—I just fall in love a lot.  When I say, “fall in love” I mean that in the sense of becoming an admirer of the lives I get to bump into.  With this has come ineptitude of being able to differentiate people “who take from me” and those “who give back”.  I’ve let too many people in that haven’t offered me much in the way of sincere love and its commonly ending up in feeling a heavy sense of self-doubt that I’m good enough.  Damn it, that’s just wrong!  I can relate to a quotation by Rumi, “You wander from room to room hunting for the diamond necklace that is already hanging around your neck!”  I don’t think I’m alone in feeling this sense that I’m not wearing diamonds, but a heavy ball and chain instead—and it’s this, my friends, that we need to release.  Life is meant to be filled with love not detest.  If we don’t acknowledge the value in our own agency we are truly lost people.  I know that I’m only beginning to touch the surface of this within my own life, but I’ll share what I’m being challenged to do: 1.) keep those who REALLY show love to you close and let all others go completely and without a grudge 2.) ask the question Rumi posed, “And you? When will you begin that long journey into yourself?”

Love to you, friend.

Çok Turkey (So much Turkey)

I’m sitting in a 130-year-old Greek style home in Mustafa Paşa with my window open listening to a man chanting his evening prayers over the loudspeakers from the minaret.  A minaret is a tower that juts out of the side of a domed mosque to lead people in a call to worship Allah.  It looks much like a skinny #2 pencil with megaphones near the top.  The song is one of the most beautiful I’ve heard so far—it has passion and adoration behind it.  Those words fit Turkey well—I see it in almost everything I’ve experienced whether that be in sight, sound, or taste.  What I’m learning is that this passion doesn’t come without a price—the Turks have fought for their modern nationhood for many many years.  And even today thousands gather in Tahrir Square in downtown Istanbul to protest the current Prime Minister’s leadership (or to many—corruption).  Ironic how Tahrir Square is located on Istiklâl Avenue (a busy hub in downtown Istanbul).  The word Istiklâl means independence, freedom, and liberty in Turkish, and its just that which is being stifled by the tear gas and rubber bullets being fired into crowds of “protestors”—or people who were literally just picnicking in fashionable clothing the first days of the “riots”.  The government has been projecting an image of unpatriotic disobedient dissidents when really they are everyday citizens demanding that corruption would stop among the business and bureaucratic elite.  I hope that the protests are resolved by the time we arrive in Istanbul the 17^th, but it’s very cool to be living in the history of Turkey—this could literally change things for the country.

I’m beginning to realize what a commitment it is to write in this blog.  We see, listen, and learn so much in a given day that its hard to really convey what’s happening with much justice that I feel daunted by the sitting down to write—but write I must so I can relive this one month for many years to come.

Yesterday was absolutely, utterly, undeniably, unforgettably remarkable. We went to the Atatürk’s home which is out of a fairy tale.  There are pieces of furniture given to the Atatürk from Kings, Sultans, and Presidents from all over the world.  We were standing amid the dining room table where decisions that have affected the lives of millions of Turks in the last century happened.  The level of ornamentation and devotion to protecting the national hero’s home preserved was astounding—I’m curious to know how it compares to our own White House. 

Of course we made a quick stop to see the Turkish Lush JUST for me.  J  They have all of the same stuff there we have except for a moisturizer called British Nanny.  I didn’t want it though.  I did however buy some of the newer fragrances.  #girlscream

From there we went to the Parliament Building and sat in the visitors section where the over 500 members of Parliament sit to decide what laws will exist to govern the nation.  I wish I wasn’t called out on being drowsy from Jet-lagness—but the dude bored me.  Boom, there I said it.

We then had an appointment to meet with the Secretary General of the equivalent to our Supreme Court.  We walk in to sit among the most pristine desks with a plate of cookies and water to drink.  Then, the Secretary General walks in with a translator and sits at the head of the table.  He proceeds to explain to us about the judicial system here in Turkey and has an amazing sense of humor.  He’s so gracious to us too—the çay comes rolling in and then a plate of frozen white gets placed before us.  Like honey, this ice cream deserves to have an entire blog entry about it.  Gökhan awes about the food because it is such a specialty and is such a gesture of generosity.  It is a special ice cream that is made from goat milk.  I’m sure my parents are squirming in their seats reading about this because they’re a little particular about which creatures’ udders they drink from.  I don’t think I could do it justice describing it because it was light and yet rich, cold and yet made you feel warm—hence my belief that this was actually witchcraft. 

After our ice cream we walked in to the equivalent of our Supreme Court chamber where they have tried high profile criminals and evaluated laws to govern the people.  The Secretary General invited us to sit in any of the justices’ seats.  We were shocked and a bit apprehensive, but he explained that these seats are that which they’ve been entrusted with and that they will be given up again to another person when their time is finished—they are the peoples’ chairs.  So, we got a big group picture of us sitting in the seats and even in the seat reserved for the Prime Minister.  Oh you should know that there are two highly elected officials in the country—The Prime Minister and the President.  The Prime Minister functions more like our President and the President seems to have a function of a vice-president and a figurehead monarchy combined into one democratic role.  Something should be noted here—we are doing things that the vast majority of Turks NEVER get to do.  Its all been arranged by Gökhan through the incredible connections he has having served a seat in parliament for a term.  He is one of the most sincere and best men I’ve had the honor of meeting.  I give him a hard time, but in my heart of hearts I respect and admire his life greatly. 

Today we travelled to Cappodocia—a city/region to the southeast of Ankara.  We passed along the 2^nd largest salt lake in the world (bigger than Utah’s lake), and I got to practice some bartering skills that have grown rusty over the years, but still get the job done.  I think I could teach a class on being cheap in a foreign country—2 steps: 1.) always act disinterested 2.) tell them “I pay ____ and nod your head.” If they say no….repeat steps with perhaps a slightly higher number in the blank. Boom—there you go!

Oh one thing I HAD to remember to write about was the way the short wheat looked blowing in the wind on the hills of Cappodocia.  It was breathtaking.  I could have sat in a field and watch the ocean like fields toss the tips of the grass over the one next to it like a wave on the sea.  It held me captivated for several minutes just watching it flow over and over again as we drove down the road. 

We saw some of the craziest rocks today too! They were like towers jutting out of the ground because of the way they eroded.  We also saw these caves where early Christians living in the Roman empire were forced to live—it was law that Christians couldn’t live on the same level as other people, they had to live underground.  That’s at least what our tour guide told us and I potentially mixed up because I’ve been too busy being an artist snapping photos.

When we arrive to our hotel we were all just completely astonished to find it much like a Tuscan Villa and a grand castle combined.  I am sleeping in an archway with a chandelier hanging over my bed—what the what!? I realized when I woke up from a horrible dream within 5 minutes of falling asleep that this place was the perfect candidate for a movie like Paranormal Activity to have been written about.  I’m alone, in a stone building over 130 years old and I had a dream that someone was standing at the foot of my bed watching me.  Ahh! Pee pants!

I’m missing so many details about our days that I feel absolutely guilty for not being able to write about.  We had dinner last night and I ordered Raki (the double size of course) and when I thought I was getting red wine I got anise liquor similar to the Greek Üzo.  If you know anything about Trent McFalls you know he despises the taste of licorice.  Did he drink it anyway and get a little drunk for his meandering walk back up the steep hill to the hotel? Heck yes he did.  Then, did he have more wine on the patio with other beautiful people? Heck YES he did.

Okay, its almost time for breakfast and that’s my favorite thing about living so I gotta go get ready for it.  I’ve received no emails hearing about your lives so I’m going to assume that you’re doing well—but please…don’t make me assume because…well…you know the adage.  J

I love you.