spot the cats.

Cats in Istanbul. 

They're everywhere. 

Keeping watch over the bookstores at the Grand Bazaar. 

Lounging by the Blue Mosque.

 Basking in the heat lamps in the Aya Sophia. 

Sleeping on scarves in museum bookstores.

How many cats can you count? 

Guarding the Blue Mosque. 

Bathing in the cozy heat lamps in the Aya Sophia. 

Fear me! Muh ah ha ha ha. 

Can you see me? 

Watching over Master's books in the Grand Bazaar. 

Don't bother me. I'm cat napping on your souvenir pashima scarves. 

Snapshots of Bebek

Bosphorus waterfront. 

Weathered old fishermen.

 Seaside cafes. 

The imposing Rumeli Fortress.

 Sun setting over the edge of Istanbul. 

What more could you ask of an evening?

Minnows loving their new home in a  Erikli water bottle.

Offering to share their trash can fire.

Three little boats, all in a row. 

Perched on an old yogurt bucket.

"Leaf in Love" is the name of this beauty.

Celebrating the European Capital of Culture 2010

Istanbul (not Constantinople) 

was celebrated as the European Capital of Culture for 2010. 

As the city's mightiest reign since the days of the Ottoman Empire comes to a close 

and 2010 gets ready to be reborn as 2011, 

I share some of my favorite posters from 

the travel world's year long obsession is Istanbul: 

çok çok mutlu noel

{12} Tiny tea cups

{11} Whirling Dervishes a'twirling

{10} Vendors hawking

{9} Cats a'begging

{8} Nargile smokers

{7} Children frolicking

{6} Au Pairs scolding

{5} Calls to prayer

{4} Secret Santas

{3} Rakı cups

{2} Shopping centers

And  asleep before midnight.

Merry Christmas and Mutlu Yıllar from İstanbul!

Notes on Turkish Bidets

Author's note: this post contains potty humor and a rather graphic Victorian-era sketch. 



Bidet is the French for pony. Etymologists find that this word stems from the notion that one "rides" a bidet much like one "rides" a pony. Well, what is a bidet? And why does this post seem to be heading in a rather PG-13 direction only five sentences in?

Bidet refers to the small nozzle integrated in many modern toilets. Popularized by the "paperless toilet" launched in Japan in the 1980's, bidets are now widely used and quite popular the world over, with this gadget seeing bottoms in anywhere from the UK, to Africa, to South Korea. Bidets are standard features in most Arab countries and in all of Turkey. Yes, Turkey, where I happened upon my first bidet experience.

The time was 6pm, almost bath time. And I was, well, doing my business. Curious about the spout spouting out of the back of the toilet, and the small hose running from the bowl to a knob mounted on the wall, in about the place the toilet brush would be--if you needed a more precise location--I turn the knob. The water is freezing, but only a trickle. I turn the knob again. This is hilarious, I think, and laugh out loud. Freezing water shooting in the direction of my bottom, with the purpose of cleansing me in a way some people apparently do not think regular toilet paper can not. How can anyone be taking this seriously? I turn the knob again. Only this time, I've turned too far. My echoing laughter stops abruptly. The knob has reached it's capacity for turning, and off it falls, rolling under the toilet. The arctic water is spraying at full blast. I panic, groping blindly under the toilet bowl for the knob that I can see, but is just out of reach. I lean slightly to the right to better my chances of reaching it, and in doing so, happen to separate my knees to balance myself...and out shoots the stream of water from between my legs, clear across the  bathroom. I now have to figure out how to contort myself into a position in which I can reach the bidet knob, which I've managed to knock further behind the toilet, without opening my legs for fear of flooding the bathroom with these baptismal waters. I hurriedly glance around for any supplies that might be useful in fishing out the knob. I have only a garbage can and the toilet brush at my current disposal. I grab the toilet brush. I am now whipping the brush around beside and behind the toilet, fishing for the damn knob that is no longer just out of reach, but out of sight. I've located the knob and toilet-brush it near enough that I can grab it in hand, letting slip a few more torrents of water from behind my clenched knees in the process. I have the knob, and fumbling...still fumbling, finally screw it back on it's rightful post and end the waterfall.

18th century of ladies "mounted" on bidets (original caption)

There really is no moral to this story.

The English Tutor on We Blog the World

The English Tutor is now a featured blog on We Blog the World!

Weblogtheworld.com is a site dedicated to bridging travel, culture, and ideas. Check out some of the amazingly talented authors featured on the site for guaranteed hours of vicarious daydreaming through these amazing modern explorers. http://www.weblogtheworld.com/about/

A big shout out to We Blog the World for expressing interest in my writing and adventures!

Istanbul in Colours

The Bosphorus River, as seen from İstanbul Modern

An unnamed cafe in a tree lined alley where we dined on nohut (chickpeas) and pilaf (rice) and mercimek çorbası (lentil soup) for less than 3 TL.  

My favorite, favorite girlfriends in İstanbul 

Nargile (hookah) pipes

How the locals do Italian Food

Happening upon the Rumeli Cafe one blustery day in Nişantaşı and unable to withstand the freezing winds and driving rains any longer, I duck inside. One successful attempt at asking for a menu later (menu alabilirmiyim? Can I get a menu?) and a trip up three flights of stairs to the toilet, I cozy up in my armchair to await my order of classic Italian minestrone and a caffe latte. 

Delicious spaghetti-corn-spinach soup in mystery broth.

The latte was amazing--strong, sweet espresso with a thick foam that held up throughout my entire meal. The minestrone turned out to be an awkward Turkish version made with broccoli, corn, spinach, canned mushrooms, and spaghetti noodles swimming in a savory, yet not unsatisfactory, broth whose stock came from an unidentifiable origin. Despite these momentary setbacks, it was quite an acceptable form of my ultimate comfort food. Remember the Cream of Lettuce Soup incident? Which was not a joke, but in fact a joke I believe was played upon the travelers by Delta's Business Class Elite Staff for making us all believe that cream of lettuce soup is the new avant-garde food of the moment. Again, I restate my disclaimer that I will always go for the soup...no matter what. 

Visual Glimpse of the Grand Bazaar

Feeling ill and  quarantined to my room so as not to infect the rest of the household, I blog. Or rather, I post pictures. 

The Juice Man, serving up a concoction of lemon, orange, apple, something, and cinnamon.

İstanbul Üniversitesi. I want to go to school here!

Suleymaniye Mosque

The never ending and overwhelming madness of the Istanbul bus system

Spacial issues. Not an "issue" topping my list my first few weeks in the city, although I'd been warned that compared to American Spacial Bubbles, (which are like...................this) Turkish Spacial Bubbles are like...this. This only become apparent my third Sunday in Istanbul as I attempted to make my way to Taksim Square. Not being able to blame Bayram for the non-existent shuttle service on Sunday's, I learned the hard way that the only way to get into the city at noon on the weekends is to take bus 48 (not to be confused with 48A) and pray that the person next to you remembered to at least apply the ineffective watery roll-on deodorant that so many unfortunately sweaty people seem to wear.

Taksim Square. A large breath of pedestrian fresh air.

I took bus 48A (yes, the wrong bus) from Kemerburgaz. The bus was as crowded as a sardine can when I boarded, the next stop saw 10-15 more people climb aboard, and the next stop just as many, if not more, without a soul hesitating to clamor onto the humid, smelly bus and sweat out the hour long ride to Eyüp with one hundred and fifty of their closest cousins and neighbors. A crotchety old Turkish women had it out with the bus driver as her kinsmen squeaked past her, the crush of bodies allowing for many to bypass payment amongst the confusion. The man in front of me, who's jacket I was pressed against, smelt of pickles and cigar smoke. Babes in back seats were crying with abandon. At this point, panic was rising in my chest and beads of sweat started breaking out on my forehead. No one else seemed to be suffering from the same crippling claustrophobia. One of my eyes may or may not have been twitching. The terrifying combination of motion sickness and nausea from the jolting bus ride, horrible road conditions and claustrophobia mingling with my impending panic attack forced me to elbow my way out of the bus only 20 minutes into my trip--as at least 10 more people were still waiting to board--leaving vapors of profanities riding on the smoky haze inside the bus as bewildered Turkish folk made way for the crazed American girl with a twitch in her eye and a sharp elbow to boot. 

Metaphorically called "The Heart of İstanbul"

Juice vendors galore.

I consolded myself with an apple, a packet of pretzel sticks (good for at least twenty mintues of mindless snacking) and an Aldeni bar (a Turkish confection that tastes like soggy biscotti covered in caramel and sütlü çikolata--milk chocolate) from the mağaza across the street and sat down to wait. I waited for a good hour and a half, and watched two more buses come and go, for one that was empty enough for this spacial issue ridden Western girl to ride in relative peace.This bus never came. I realized if I was going to go anywhere at all today, I had to suck it up, plug my iPod into my ears, and watch out the nearest window to keep the Albeni bar from exiting my already churning stomach. I was in obvious distress, and my fellow passengers knew it. One elderly Turkish man seemed so alarmed by the way my actions seemd to mirror a frightened wild animal, that he said something earnest to me in Turkish as he patted his shoulder and mimicked the swaying of the bus, seeming to be offering a shoulder to lean on should I topple over. Kindly fellow. I replied, tamam (okay) and went back to staring out the window. I made it to Eyüp (albiet the wrong destination, but finding my way to Taksim was a breeze from there) by some unknown force of the Universe that seriously had my back that day.

A very happy Istanbulian Thanksgiving

Celebrating Turkey Day in Turkey, without a turkey. Sounds like a riddle, tastes like Wagamamas, and ends without feeling overly stuffed or even remotely satisfied from the experience. Physical cravings for needing to loosen my belt after three slices of pumpkin pie aside, so remains my gratitude. Today has been a wonderful day of reflection for me.

Sitting around the table with my girlfriends here in Istanbul for our little makeshift edamame-and-tofu themed Thanksgiving lunch at Wagamamas, I realized how many gifts I have been given in life to travel, to teach, to learn and to see things that many won't have the opportunity to see. I am thankful for this. These girls are amazing, exactly the company I should be keeping, girls who dream big, live large, and don't wear their fears on their sleeves. I know that we all look up to each other and rely on each other for support immensely. I am thankful for them. I realized how strong and courageous I really am, despite my weak moments, and I am thankful that at the end of each day, I know I can trust myself and my intuition to always make the right decisions and to guide me in the right direction. I thought about how hard it was for my family to see me go so far away, and especially so near the holiday season. I am thankful for their prayers and for their support in this trip. I am thankful for my friends back home who are just in their reminder that snowstorms blown out of proportion are not as romantic as I might think, and that I shouldn't always think the grass is always greener on the other side, especially when the other side boasts 60 degree weather on any given November evening.

I am dearly thankful for Aaron and his undying support while I undertake this little adventure, short from pushing me out the door when I had my doubtful moments about coming here, he has been there every step of the way, and always with useful tidbits of advice on things like which American swear words I should teach the kids first--suggesting I teach  the Biblical ones, stuff the four years olds can handle, before I move on to the "hard stuff," geared toward the 11 and 12 year old range.

So while I sit here in a skyping-frenzy, using up the last few hours of my mid-week off day to keep up with the ups and downs of the bummer of a blizzard that did not leave Salt Lake City in a post-apocalypic state that was the most anticipated event of the holiday weekend, and the progress of the hatchery-born turkey's roasting in every oven across America, I find myself thankful for even the small things, things I normally would cuss and pound my fists over in a catastrophic fit of injustices played upon me on any given weekday but today. Things like the hilariously over-dramatic Turkish TV dramas that run from 16:00-24:00 nightly that turn any sour mood of mine into a gleeful, giddy one. The kalamata olives and honeycomb I get to eat every morning on toast with Turkish tea for breakfast. The stray cat in the neighborhood that Mira and I have christened Alice who follows us around everywhere as we go about our daily walks to and from the park. The two ducks that look like Jemima Puddle Duck and the loner goose who live in the idyllic pond with willow trees providing fantastic hiding places for tea parties that is right in my backyard.

The understanding I come away with, as many celebraters do, as this Thanksgiving Day of 2010 comes to a close, is that there are many, many little things, each day, I should take the time to appreciate, to feel gratitude for, and the people in my life who deserve my vocal appreciation of them more than just during the holiday season. So to all my friends and family in Utah, New York, and scattered across the world, and all the turkey's who so courageously gave their lives for 20 USD or even 80 TL to the millions giving thanks during the festivities today via engorgement of the belly, mutlu bir gün seni dilerim, a happy day I wish you.

Day Trip to Ortaköy & Beşiktaş

Lauren and I spent the better part of Thursday morning winding our way through the village streets of Kemerburgaz standing up on the awkwardly filled public bus, trying to make our way into the city. Being it Bayram this week (a religious holiday celebrating the trials Abraham suffered when God commanded him to sacrifice his son, Issac. More on this interesting holiday later) the private shuttle from our compound in Kemercountry was not running. The shuttle takes 30 minutes, the public bus takes an hour an a half. We had to make due with what we had. We had a late start, what with waiting in the rain for the shuttle for the better part of an hour, before giving up running back to our houses for umbrellas and warmer jackets to wait for the bus, and didn't arrive in Ortaköy (Or-ta-coy) until noon. I purchased an Istanbulkart, a card that will let me have my fill of public transit, and made our way riverside to do some browsing and photographing. 

Birds flying over one of the many, many boats that make it's run up and down the Bosphorus each and every day. You will notice that boats will only run one direction, that is because they are only allowed to head upstream during certain time during the day, and downstream certain times.

 A seasoned fisherman and his kindly old fisherman pals doing what they've done best for the better part of the last century. (Assumingly.)

 The Grand Mejidiye Mosque in Ortaköy stationed imposingly on the water on this overcast, gloomy day.

 Beşiktaş(Besh-ik-tash)

The third floor rooftop terrace at the Adresim Cafe. You can see the Grand Mejidiye Mosque in the background.

The Adresim Cafe, where Lauren and I ate baked potatoes with black and green olives, peas, corn, cheese and sıcak sos (hot sauce) for 8 TL and Diet Cokes for 4 TL (over 3 USD!) We sat on the rooftop cafe overlooking the streets of Beşiktaş.

The way Istanbul says hello: merhaba

Merbaha, from Istanbul! Written 11 Novemeber 2010:

I exited the plane this morning at 10 AM after a long and sleepless flight to Istanbul from New York. I was driven straight to Kemerburgaz, Istanbul along the coast line and through the city. I had no idea I would be going straight to my host family's house, I thought there might be a few days of rest and orientation awaiting me. Not so. Luckily, I ended up with a welcoming host family, a sure sign of luck since I'd never even spoken with them, only about them with my program coordinator. I fell asleep at 6 pm sans dinner and slept like one only can after traveling for 2 days. I have exhausted my cash resources for now due to the fact that I had to haul all of my luggage into New York for the night via taxicab and back again the next afternoon...I've taken the subway from the airport without four bags, and even then it was a hassle. There was no way I could've executed it cheaply. The ride was very pleasant, getting to see the night skyline of the city appearing from under the bridge as we drove to 86th and Lexington where my oldest and closest friend from my days in the city was letting me crash for the night. We had a rowdy good time chatting and catching up for the next few hours. The ride back to the airport the next day, (after I had spent a leisurely morning eating organic cheerios and drinking tea with Autumn, visiting my favorite painting, Springtime, by Pierre Auguste Cot at the Met, having lunch at my favorite soup hangout Hale and Hearty, lattes at Dean and Deluca, and generally enjoying strolling about my old stomping grounds on the Upper East Side of Manhattan on the most gorgeous fall day I'd ever seen the city offer) was equally the easiest and most pleasant trip to the airport I have probably ever taken. Must always budget for taxi rides whenever I am traveling with excessive baggage.

The flight from New York was incredibly comfortable and luxurious. It must have been good karma finally coming my way after the torment I had endured from the SLC parking enforcement crew throughout the entire summer. Somehow, with the Universe's blessing, I had my ticket upgraded to first class. Upon entering the plane and taking my seat, I was immediately offered juice or champagne. Before take-off, we were all handed the night's menu--and we sat back contemplating our first course options (a pepper-crusted tuna steak and feta cheese sampler with a soybean and seaweed salad, or a cream of lettuce soup with a spiced-lentil asparaguas and squash salad) as the crew readied the plane for our departure. Disclaimer: I will always choose the soup option, even if it is cream of lettuce. 

The first course was served and I sampled my first taste of cream of lettuce soup. Very...lettuce-y. I cant' say I would recommend it to anyone who wouldn't be craving soup in 100 degree desert heat the way I would. We soup lovers have to go through a lot to sustain our vice. The lentil-asparagus-squash salad was tasty and well-seasoned, but something about it was giving me a major headache. I forwent the rest of the veggie-bean salad in favor of a crisp green one made with baby spinach, dried cranberries, and pine nuts that was now being served with seeded rolls and butter. Much better. For the main course I went with a simple cheese ravioli and artichoke hearts. The artichoke hearts were the same ones from Costco that had been my job to separate anytime Aaron and I made pizza or spaghetti sauce. The artichoke hearts made me sad--the food started to lump in my throat and the immensity of what I was doing, where I was going, away from everything and everyone I knew began to really weigh heavily on me in a "no turning back now" kind of way.

I estimate that our meal was served over the course of three or four hours, as I dropped off to sleep with five hours remaining on our nine hour flight, somewhere over Nova Scotia.

I woke to light from the Turkish sky seeping through the cracks on the blinds that had been pulled shut throughout the night. I enjoyed a fruit and yogurt breakfast and tea while flying in low over hundreds of minirets as we began our landing in Istanbul. Collecting my visa that will sustain me legally in Turkey for the next 90 days before I have to get it renewed, and the line to have my passport stamped, was also some of the simplist "line-waiting" I've ever done. Things almost went too well for me traveling here. I have now been here one week, and haven't had a moment to collect my thoughts in a coherent, readable way until now. The adventure has just begun, more on Kemerburgaz, Turkish breakfast, and the local Starbucks to come!