We're here in Izmir!

Alan and I made it to our rented apartment in Izmir. I'd call this one of my most challenging travel days, but also one that motivated me to always keep the attitude that things will work out eventually.

The bus ride from hell got slightly worse around 5AM when the travel tummy bag caught up with me in the final rest area. Brutal on a squat pot. Sorry if that's TMI.

We did, however, make another friend, Burak the solider. He was nice, helpful and funny. 

Although it felt like that bus ride would never end, 15 hours after we left Kayseri, we stepped off the bus in Izmir. Our friend helped us find the shuttle bus service that would take us closer to our apartment. That bus was fine, and I got to try out some new Turkish, which made everyone around us giggle. Oh well, it got the job done: Does this go to Alsancak?

The driver dropped us off in a swanky downtown area, near the Hilton and Renaissance hotels. I had a phone number for Emre, the apartment renter. I was he supposed to call him when I was in the neighborhood so we could meet up. The only problem was that I has no phone.

Our boss had said that if we asked anyone to borrow their phone, it would be no problem in Turkey. So I left Alan (still pretty sick) with our bags and walked several hundred feet down the posh sidewalk to two  Turkish guys. Despite my Turkish and their English, I was soon on both guys' cell phones, using phone and internet browsing to check the number. They were so helpful. When I did get ahold of Emre, he told me that I was pretty far from the place and should take a taxi too meet his friend who would let us into the apartment. 

So, we found a taxi driver and set off for the strange address. The driver had very limited English, so I asked him what his name was. First he thought I was speaking English, but when he understood my. Turkish, he laughed, which broke the ice. He asked me if I was German. I replied in German that I could speak German, and asked him. He replied in German that he was too tired. Laughs all around.

15 minutes and a few phone calls later, we met Ismet, the renter's friend, outside a döner shop. A strange old women asked me if I were German (I see a pattern) and informed me that she was Italian and that Izmir was the best place.

Ok, on to the apartment. Ismet took us up to the place, showed us the wifi password and was about to leave when I asked about whether we could drink the tap water. He took a quick look in the fridge, and gestured that he would be back. He returned with his arms full of bottled water and refused my offer to pay for it. Again, the hospitality here is something to be reckoned with!

Alan took a shower and I tucked him into bed, my brave burrito. After showering the bus, sweat, and rest area off, I laid down too. We woke up about six hours later.

We decided that we really needed to get some light food in our stomachs, so somehow we mustered the strength to walk through the new neighborhood to a grocery store. A little groggy, we selected some basics: bread, lavaş, cheese, olive oil, eggs, juice, peppers, onions, soap, shampoo, and Turkish tea. I also really wanted laundry detergent. My roommate Özge from Flagstaff had taught me çamaşır, the word for laundry. Looking at the cleaning product selection, I used my understanding of Turkish derivations (su = water, maden suyu = mineral water, portakal suyu = orange juice) to deduce that çamaşır suyu would be some kind of laundry liquid. 

Turns out that it's bleach. I looked it up at home, and I'm glad I didn't wash anything in it, though I hope the smell would have clued me in. I'll know what to get next time! Çamaşır deterjen. That name totally makes sense, doesn't it. I think my inner linguist got in the way this time.

After another brief nap, I whipped up a little cheese lavaş as our only meal of the day. Traveling is hard, but rewarding. My number one goal is to get on a regular sleep schedule ASAP.

Made it to Izmir, check. Got some food, check. Have a bed and air conditioning, CHECK! 

Teşekküler, Türkiye!

Dear Turkey,

Teşekküler (thanks) for having such nice and generous people. It means a lot to this weary set of travelers who don't (yet) speak Turkish. 

It's 2:50 AM, and Alan and I are mid-overnight bus ride from Kayseri to Izmir. I'd say it's been pretty much our worst experience in Turkey so far, but by no fault of Süha Tourism. Alan seems to have caught a stomach bug just as we were heading out town. Alan is one tough burrito, but he did not look good at the bus station, and the first 6-ish hours of the bus ride were miserable for him. I even got a little empathy nausea at one point. At each rest area, I've gotten off the bus to use one of the squat pots and buy a small maden suyu (mineral water) to comfort our upset stomachs. During a difficult moment at a past rest area, a guy approached us, offering to help answer questions. I took him up on that at the last stop while Alan rested in the bus. I ordered a cheese lavoş with my mineral water, and sat down at his table. Turns out he studies at Melikşah in the mechanical engineering department, and actually knew one of my colleague in the Englixh program. Small world! Of course he bought us some  Turkish tea, my new life force, and we made our way through a nice conversation using a little of both languages. What I love about Turks in general is that they are assertive and willing to help when they see a problem. By the end of the conversation, I had his contact info for future questions and his help in getting us to our neighborhood in Izmir (free)!

Just another word about Turkish rest stops. I definitely connect parts of them back to those I experiened in Cambodia (squat pots, weird food, lots of carrying my backpack), but in Turkey, there are also very quaint, and beautiful elements, like pyramid of boxed dates or packaged candy for sale.  I also saw kolonya, a new discovery from today. At the end of the work day at melıkşah, my officemate Faruk came over to my desk while I was using my new iPad,  and doused my hands in a fragrant purple liquid. "Lavender," he said as he doused our colleagues' and bosses' hands. While I was pretty concerned about the liquid nod my iPad, none dripped on it, and my hands were nicely scented for the rest of the afternoon.

On another note, I'm having some issues with jet lag. I guess I could chalk up tonight to being on board a bumpy, crowded bus instead of being in a bed, nevertheless, I was up at this time last night, too. I woke to the Ramadan drums (a traditional wake up call for Muslims out eat breakfast before sunrise), and I was still awake at the call to payer about an hour later. The middle of the night is a time I don't often see, as I am typically a sound sleeper and an early to bed, early to rise personality. From the bus, it's dark minus the soft green glow of the bus's track lighting, the red glare of a digital clock that won't move fast enough, and a few house lights in the distance. The world has a still and peaceful quality as I ride, convinced that this bus trip, while uncomfortable, has much to teach me about Turkey.

Stretching my academic wings

The academician in me has been dormant for the month of June, and today, I got to briefly kick it back in gear.

After another delightful Turkish breakfast at the hotel, Alan and I were whisked off to Melikşah University for a day of observation and settling in with our future colleagues. Doğan explained to us the new European-funded projects being developed by teachers, including a refugee education project. Although I haven't directly worked with refugees, I have volunteered with organizations that help refugees gain literacy skills and developed a test for beginning literacy that was designed with refugees in mind. I'm actually very interested in the plight of people who, for a number of reasons, are forced to leave their country under difficult circumstances. Currently, there are an estimated 600,000 Syrian refugees in Turkey. Refugees often struggle with day-to-day tasks because of language and cultural barriers.

Alan and I were lucky enough to sit in on the committee meeting to discuss the refugee project. The basic goals for the project are to offer basic Turkish survival language skills to those seeking refuge or asylum in Turkey. During the meeting, despite the heat and my inability to drink (it's Ramadan, and I don't like to be impolite to my Muslim colleagues), we came up with a rough draft of a proposal for the project.

It felt good to stretch my academic wings on a topic that I'm interested in, and that will potentially help people who are in dire circumstances here in Turkey. I drew on some of the work I did during my master's degree in developing a literacy test appropriate for refugees. Alan and I both brought up ideas from our curriculum and administration courses. I was relieved that I haven't lost it all. It's not exactly riding a bike, but I'm happy to see the application of my master's degree work.

Welcome to Kayseri, Burritos.

If I summed up our first day in Kayseri in one word, it would be hospitality.

When we arrived in Kayseri, we were greeted by Mesut, one of the directors where we will be working. He was incredibly warm and welcoming to us weary travelers as he drove us through town and helped us get checked into the hotel. He gave us an excellent impression of our future coworkers. After a few emails home, a bottle of chilled water from the minibar (google search of "can I drink the water in Turkey" had mixed reviews), and cool showers, we were ready to pass out. Despite the very warm temperature in our room (we didn't realize that the window opened?), we slept deeply. Finally.

Turkish Breakfast is one of the best meals I've ever eaten. Even at our hotel, the breakfast was outstanding. There was a buffet of meats, cheeses, olives, marinated peppers, bread, savory pastries, eggs, potatoes, and salad. There was coffee and tea, juice, and water. The room itself was also beautiful: a glass ceiling to let in sunlight, lots of green plants, clean and fresh table linens, real silverware; this isn't exactly the complementary breakfast at Super 8. Turkish pop music filtered in from the lobby, providing a perfect backdrop for our first meal in Kayseri.

I struggled a little to get what I wanted to drink at breakfast. I wanted some of the famous Turkish tea. It's served in unique glasses that are shaped like small vases. I saw a small metal barrel, clearly full of hot liquid, so I assumed it was tea. Only hot water came out. I wasn't sure what to do, so I instead took a small mug and poured instant coffee and more hot water in. While eating, I watched another guest remove the pot from on top of the barrel and pour a glass of tea. What I didn't see, but would learn later in the day, was that the tea in the pot is atomic strength, and one must cut it about half and half with the hot water. That was one strong glass I poured myself.

Following the absolutely delicious breakfast, Alan and I were picked up by our boss, Doğan. He is one of the most personable people I've ever met. He took us on a short drive up to a hill above Kayseri so that we could see the city--it's beautiful, more to come on that--and then took us to Melikşah University to get a feel for our new workplace (we don't actually start until September). Melikşah is a small, profit school founded in 2008, so everything looks new. We toured the School of Foreign Languages, met briefly with our future colleagues, and then toured the campus. A highlight of the morning was meeting up with our former NAU colleges who now work at Melikşah. It was comforting to see familiar, English-speaking faces. They made us feel right at home and helped us feel uninhibited about asking questions.

My favorite moment of the morning was when we were touring the small campus. We were ascending an outdoor set of stairs on a hill overlooking the city. The Muslim call to prayer  resounded over a loud speaker as a hot breeze whipped around us. The sound echoed and resonated through my whole body, a thrilling audio experience for a foreign traveler. Doğan says we'll get used to it, and stop noticing, but I hope that I keep a reverence for this beautiful custom. If you've never heard a call to prayer (listen here), it's a single male voice tracing notes in what I think is called maqam (type of music scale used for Quran recitation, based on wikipedia research).  The same imam singer's voice is projected from every mosque in Kayseri (I didn't know that), and we will be hearing the call five times every day while we live in a Muslim country. Right now, Muslims are observing Ramadan, which in my understanding is a period of spiritual focus in which Muslims fast between sunrise and sunset to help themselves understand how it feels to have nothing, to be among the poorest in society.

After our visit to the school, Doğan dropped us off at our hotel to rest. We decided to ask the front desk for a little help with arranging our bus tickets to Izmir. If this weren't a packed and rambling blog entry already, I'd probably go into a lot more detail. I'll stick to the highlights. After a brief broken Enligh-Turkish encounter, we set off on foot with one of the hotel workers for the ticketing office to book our trip. Between his limited English and our barely existent Turkish, we managed to ask his name and occupation. I asked whether he was married, and his response "enshallah"(God willing) was familiar to Alan and me from our work with Arabic-speakers. It also made everyone laugh, which crosses all language barriers. The small ticketing station was manned by a 13-year-old boy who did a great job of interpreting our wants and booking our trip. We used our fancy "chip" credit card for the first time in Turkey without a hitch. Satisfied with the outcome of our multi- (or maybe anti-) lingual service encounter, the three of us came back to the hotel. We gave in to jet lag for the rest of the afternoon and napped in our hot hotel room for about 3 hours. My motto for jetlag is do your best to forget about what time it is at home and just be present in the new place, but also get rest if you are tired. They aren't as mutually exclusive as some travelers think.

At the end of each day during Ramadan, Muslims break the fast with Iftar, a special style of dinner. Doğan invited Alan, me, and our friends from NAU to dinner tonight. We ate at a restaurant serving a special Iftar meal. During Ramadan, if you want to go out to eat, you need a reservation, as everyone shows up just before sundown. Many people have Ramadan apps on their phones with a countdown to sunset, and we saw a second-by-second countdown on Doğan's phone, followed by a city-wide call over the loudspeakers, announcing that it was time to break the fast.

Our table was set with lots of small plates containing olives, bread, various desserts, and dates. We each had an individual salad of lettuce, carrots, cabbage, and tomato, as well as our choice of lentil or okra soup. I enjoyed the okra soup, which I've never had or seen before. The main course was slow-cooked beef, rice, and tomatoes. We sipped Turkish tea during the meal, and ordered turkish coffee afterwards. Turkish coffee is served in small cups, with the very fine grounds sinking to the bottom of the cup. The coffee grounds are sweetened with sugar, and can be read like fortunes after drinking, if desired. My Turkish roommate back in Flagstaff introduced me to that fun custom.

Doğan took us back to our hotel for the night. We are feeling really lucky to have such gracious hosts in Turkey, as arriving in a foreign country is a daunting and overwhelming experience for even seasoned travelers. In my experience, Turks are warm, welcoming, and incredibly generous. I hope to take on more of those traits during our time here.

Here's to our first day in Turkey, to the wonderful people, and to our new city.

Istanbul Airport

Alan and I have been in the Istanbul airport for about 8 hours now. Here are a few of the highlights so far:

1. A two-hour nap in the terminal. I was pretty sure that I was going to collapse from exhaustion, so this was a necessity.

2. Squat-pots. These exciting toilets really spice up airport bathrooms. Looks like Turkey may use both western and squat. Glad I (think I) know what to do.

3. A meal of fresh food. After a few days of cliff bars and airline food, anything is a step up, but I somehow got us a nice sandwich and a plate of Turkish veggie side dishes. Pointing and smiling works!

4. Using my limited Turkish effectively. Alan and I both ordered drinks successfully on the plane. Baby steps.

5. Having Alan as my travel buddy. Traveling with my husband is so much better, easier, more enjoyable, and less intimidating than traveling alone. We can watch the luggage during bathroom breaks, we can help each other stay positive, and we can encourage each other to take care of ourselves (e.g., drinking plenty of water, eating meals, walking around in between long sitting sessions).

So, in a few minutes we'll board for Kayseri, and not a minute too soon. Three days of travel and very few hours of sleep does not make me a very pleasant human being. It's time for the next chapter.

Dirty clothes and a business-class attitude

When you start measuring your trip in days you haven't changed your underwear, things are getting a little desperate. Let's see, I put these on Monday morning at 6, and it's now Wednesday, at least it is in London. Yep, time for a change. Time for a shower.

For now, I'll settle for ignoring the underwear situation (as I don't have a good solution that is possible to easily carry out in a lavatory), slathering on more deodorant, and dabbing a little lavender oil on my wrists. Sorry fellow passengers. We've arrived too late both nights to book an airport shower. In case you missed it, yes, Alan and I have "slept" in an airport two nights in a row. Mostly, that means that I haven't slept in about 50 hours.

We are on the plane now, Turkish Airlines. The moment I stepped on, I felt the smile of a travel rush creep onto my face. The plane music sounds like the Middle East. The intercom announcements and even little instructions about the life vests are in Turkish. I feel simultaneously in my element and totally disoriented. The plane itself is old and very cramped in terms of legs room (admittedly, I have this problem all the time, but notice when it is particularly close--I literally couldn't sit in a bus in Mexico because the length of my leg bones exceeded the space allotted between seats by several inches). 

I'm not sure how to transition into the next blurb. It's probably something about my self-righteous need for the world to accommodate my femurs, but in any case, the British guy sitting in front of me was really serious in the queue to board. Another guy walked up to the line, I'm not sure from where, and this British guy goes, "are you trying to step in front of me?" His tone was so stern that I first misread the whole thing as sarcasm among friends, but when the response was an equally serious, "No, I was in front of you," I realized that the British guy was not ready to lose his spot in these queue.

British guy: "No, you are mistaken. I was behind this lady." Gestures to me. He definitively ended the interaction with a sharp, "I think you had better move behind me." 

I figured the British guy would be at least a business class passenger, given his suit and his demeanor, but no. Just in the seat in front of me, regular dude. I can forgive the stern interaction with a line-cutter, but he better not try to recline his seat, or I'll have to tell him HE is mistaken.

Or maybe I'll just raise my arms and let my ripened armpits do the talking.

Let's get to Turkey already.

Be careful what you wish for

The adage goes, “be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.

And I  definitely got it, all right.

In my last post, I confessed that I sometimes secretly wished for hiccups in travel plans because they lead to adventure. Well secret or not, that wish came true last night.

The purpose of this post is not to criticize the airline industry, and in fact, I had very friendly and helpful service from U.S. Airways in each encounter so far. Chicago gate agents Peter and Pam were particular standouts as careful listeners and problem solvers. The powerful storms rolling through Chicago are to blame for the now “extended” version of our travel to Turkey. We waited for more than two hours in Phoenix before even taking off, then we ended up circling over eastern Nebraska (of all places) in a holding pattern for Chicago-bound planes. Finally, we were diverted to Minneapolis where we sat on the tarmac for another two hours. During this time, our crew members’ exceeded shift hours allowed by the FAA, so we also waited for a new crew to take us back to Chicago.

If you’ve ever been on a plane, I’m sure you’ve experienced (or been, as I have) the obnoxious person who, while stuck on a plane with 200 other frustrated passengers, takes out her cell phone and calls everyone she knows to explain at full volume how she’s stuck in “F***ing Minneapolis because of the F***ing weather in Chicago and how this is the F***ing worst day of her life, etc.” (emphasis on the adjectives beginning with F). Alan and I put in headphones to drown her out, because really, there’s nothing any of us could do to make the bad situation better, and the negative vibes feel like the suck the life out of my immune system, not to mention that make me really want to take her phone and illegally flush it in the lavatory.

I’m writing this on a plane bound for London Heathrow, a stopover on our rescheduled itinerary. Direct flights from Chicago to Istanbul seem to happen daily, but only once daily, at 10 PM. Last night we had the choice between being held up in Chicago all day today to fly stand by tonight, or to get going at 9:00 this morning via Heathrow. My inclination was initially to take the direct flight, and in the meantime get a hotel room, sleep, and start a little fresher. Alan advocated for the adventurous new itinerary that kept the momentum of our trip (however minimal by last night at 2 in the morning when we finally deplaned in Chicago) going, and that got us out of the US one day earlier. While I was somewhat intrigued by visiting London’s airport for the first time, the prospect of flying standby on the other choice, with the potential danger of not being able to get on the plane, swayed me to the new itinerary.

The only problem (aside from planning on purpose not to sleep for two days straight) was that our checked bags might not follow us on the new route, or might not even be loaded onto the plane out of Chicago. Normally, I have plenty of blind faith in the airport system in general. I always believe that they have my best interests in mind, and that my luggage will arrive when and where I need it. Yet, in the confusion of yesterday/today, I figured that switching airlines, routes, and even days, our bags stood a pretty good chance of slipping through the cracks, waiting patiently in Chicago for the flight we wouldn’t be on.

As our checked bags basically contain all of the material possessions we are taking to Turkey, they are very important to us. On limited sleep, the situation started to feel pretty dire. Alan and I spent the hours between 3 and 6 AM waiting in lines to talk to baggage claim personnel, gate agents, and other staff who basically all had different responses to our inquiry after the bags. Our investigation gleaned only the following: 1) Our bags made it to Chicago, but that’s all that we know about their whereabouts, 2) Kayseri does not have customs check, so we will have to get ahold of the bags in Istanbul, 3) Each airline has a separate system for tagging bags, so no matter who we asked, no one could find the bag. It had already left US Air’s jurisdiction, but not yet made it to Turkish Airlines’, and since American (our new itinerary) never saw the bags, they have no record of the bags.

Alan and I struggled to prioritize this morning. It was a good lesson for our marriage in terms of listening to each other. We were both beyond exhausted from not having slept at all, and my priorities were eating and brushing my teeth. Alan was more concerned about figuring out the bag situation, which, after 3 hours of goose-chasing, I was pretty sure was a lost cause that we would have to figure out after the fact. So we did have breakfast, and I did brush my teeth, in exchange for standing for an hour in another stagnant line to talk to a gate agent who confirmed my suspicions that we just have to hope. Then file a claim. Then make a trip back to Istanbul. Yikes. Cross that bridge when you get there.

About 15 minutes out of Heathrow, I’m feeling good. Well, actually I feel pretty miserable and I want to stretch out on a real bed which won’t be happening tonight, but at least we are en route on our adventure and we have each other.

And so it begins...

And so it begins…

This text message from my mother sums up my day, and in fact many aspects of my life and marriage.

And so it begins. The gate agent at the Phoenix airport has just announced “lengthy” weather delays in our connecting location, Chicago. My husband, Alan, and I are traveling toward our indefinite stay in Turkey as English teachers. The best adventures (or, in my case, the best blog entries) begin with, include, or end on an unexpected turn of events such as a delayed flight. The hiccups in well-made plans create the chaos and anxiety that ultimately lead to resolution and a sense of accomplishment. Part of me secretly enjoys these “annoyances” because of what they add to an otherwise “normal” part of an adventure. It’s a better story if something went a little bit wrong along the way.

I’m a fan of adventure, at least in theory. In the moment, I often get frustrated and despondent; but if I know it will be fun to write about later, I somehow get through it.

In my mind, our adventure doesn’t officially begin until we actually walk out onto a Turkish sidewalk and smell the Anatolian air. For now, our pre-adventure fate rests with the powers at be in airport world and the powerful bow-echo line of thunderstorms racing toward the already Windy City. I’m glad I brought those protein bars and compression socks. It might just be a long trip.

Packing for an extended international trip, part 3

I've definitely packed for international trips before. For Austria, I packed a large suitcase and my swim team duffel. I also carried an extremely heavy backpack as carry on. The two large bags proved almost impossible when boarding and exiting the train between Germany Austria, therefore, for Cambodia, I limited myself to only what I could reasonably carry at least 100 meters at a good clip. The problem with my plan was that it limited me to one suitcase, which I obviously stuffed to the brim and easily went way over the weight limit. $100 dollar mistake. If I could do the Cambodia packing again, I'd only bring a backpack with tons of underwear, a sporty bikini, walking sandals and sunscreen. The tailors made everything that I ended up wearing.

So, for Turkey, Alan and I thought that we should check two bags each, as we don't have to deal with public transport from the airport. In our wedding registry, we selected two awesome "extra-large" duffel bags from Eddie Bauer. These bags are incredible--lightweight, enormous, sturdy, and easy to roll. The only problem is that they don't meet the dimensions required by our airline. Ug.

So, t-minus 56 hours before our flight, we realize that we'll need to exchange them for the next smaller size, and re-do our entire packing scheme.This afternoon, we exchanged bags and then spent today's daylight re-packing everything, downsizing for the smaller bag, and making tough decisions about what we really want to bring. Alan calls our packing experience "Sisyphysian"after the myth of Sisyphus, the guy doomed to roll the boulder up the hill and watch it roll back down, only to start over again and again for eternity. I tend to agree, as I had been pretty grateful for the extra room in the extra-large bag.

My bags now packed to the brim with clothes, shoes and essential toiletries, I feel about 98% done with packing. I've got a bag specified for our honeymoon/language school in coastal Izmir, and a bag of winter clothes to stay in Kayseri (our new home). I have a carry-on suitcase full of cashmere sweaters and dress pants. I have an overnight bag with our documents, my laptop, my purse, a change of clothes, quart-size bags of liquids, a diary, my iPad, and my survival kit (green tea bags and Emergen-C packets). I'm hoping that the $100 I'll have to pay to bring my extra checked bag from Phoenix to Chicago is the only overage charge that I'll incur, though I kind of doubt it. I'm working on with the idea that my stuff and I have to get to Turkey, so the fees are just the price of admission. I don't like unexpected charges, but moving abroad is not only tough, it can also be somewhat expensive.

I'm so ready to just be done and on the plane!

The USPS Adventure

Yesterday, I had a classic pre-major-trip adventure at the Flagstaff post office. Picture this: I'm driving a loaned 1996 Honda accord with no a/c. I've spent hours carefully packing and re-packing 3 large boxes to ship to my mom. They are filled with wedding gifts shipped to us in Flagstaff and little treasures of mine that I'm not ready to part with. They also contain a few clothes that I didn't have room for in my suitcase, or that my current figure doesn't accommodate. They also contain two partial bottles of perfume given to me by close friends from Saudi Arabia. I'm very attached to scents, as I hear all human beings are, so I hoped to keep these bottles around for future years to bring back my fondest memories of volleyball here in Flagstaff.

In any case, I've also spend lots of time arranging textbooks from my master's degree into boxes ready to ship to Turkey as reference materials, or at the very least, some kind of proof that I actually learned something during the past three years.

So there I am, pulling up to the post office, alone. Alan was checking on Walter, his yellow lab who incurred a traumatic attack at the kennel just a few days ago.

Before unloading my large packages, I check inside for some type of cart. I see a mail cart, and despite my usual inclination NOT to use things that aren't clearly designated for my use, I take the cart out to the Honda and load it up, sure that if anyone questions me, I can ask for forgiveness.

A fellow post-office goer reluctantly holds the doors for me, and I make it inside. I look for the old-school customs forms, and there are two options. One smaller form, and one larger one that has some extra words in the title. I choose the shorter one and fill out two, one for each international box.

"Next please."

"Hi, I've got a lot to ship... I'd like to ship these pa..."

"Ok, do they contain any hazardous or flammable materials, including lithium batteries or perfume?"

Oh crap. "Um, yes, I packed some perfume."

"You'll have to pack it separately. It's flammable."

"Oh, I didn't realize that. Sorry, I think it's in this one."

"You can pack it separately."

"Oh no, I'll just throw it away." What? This is a most valuable possession! Why did I say that?

"Find it, take it out, and go to the next available counter." She directed me back to the long counter that guides the waiting line with a pair of old scissors and large packing tape.

Luckily, I cut through the packing tape (and shipping label) on the correct box, and pulled out the ziplock with my perfume. I slipped them into my purse and reloaded the borrowed cart. I then pushed my overloaded cart to the last counter where a pleasant clerk helped my ship the domestic packages to my mom.

The international packages were up next.

"Well, this will be $80," the clerk said after weighing my shoebox full of textbooks. "If you use one of our flat rate boxes, I could get the price down a little, maybe around $60. It's over the 4-pound limit." No kidding, It's a bunch of heavy books! My other box was bigger and had even more books, so I figured I'd be repacking that, too.

"Oh, and you've filled out the wrong customs declarations." Dang. There were only two choices, and I filled out the wrong one.

For the next thirty minutes, I played a diabolical game of book-tetras while other customers passed through the line, sending packets to Norway, letter across town, and everywhere in between. An older guy even made small talk with me about Turkey. I flipped and stacked, re-ordered, and even eliminated a few books from the boxes, in order to fit my small library into two large flat-rate boxes.  I taped the up the boxes, and then went to worked on the customs forms. Round two.

$161 dollars later, I left the post office exhausted. I carried the four books that were rejected from the overpacked boxes and the dangerous flammable perfume.

On the drive home, I felt empowered. If I can keep my cool while repacking three of my five boxes, I can do anything. I know that's not sound logic, but sometimes it feels good to stick with your task to the end. Bring it on, Turkey!

Saying Goodbye, person by person

The official goodbyes have started.

Our new Eddie Bauer extra large rolling duffels arrived today, ready to transport our worldly possessions overseas for what I've started calling "the next chapter."

Of course, with the next chapter comes the close of the previous. Our lives in Flagstaff. MY life in Flagstaff.

I said one of my hardest goodbyes tonight to my closest girlfriend in Flagstaff. We indulged in a wine tasting, cheese plate, and a little Thai food. Our conversation included the full spectrum of topics we've covered over the past two years, but I found myself asking questions that I had simply never thought to ask before: what's your hometown in the Philippines like? What would you life be like if you still lived there? What is your mother like? I got to know my friend in a new way, even on our last (for a while anyway) in-person conversation.

We talked about our fond memories of volleyball, and what I'm learning about marriage. We covered work and personal life, we delved into the past and mused about the possibilities awaiting us in our respective lives.

She gifted Alan and I each a silver watch, and I know I will wear daily and cherish as a reminder of a true friendship that has meant so much to me.

True friends are hard to come by. I will miss my Flagstaff friends dearly. Saying goodbye feels final, but with the many means of easy, convenient communication these days, there is no excuse to fall out of touch with the important people in my life.

Here's to old friends, and to making more friends in the next chapter.

To Kenji--My First and Only Car

Today, I experienced my first car sale. Unfortunately, I also experienced only decaf coffee this morning. A recipe for a grumpy, lackluster day.

I sold the car to a friend of a friend, a Bengali woman who has been moving around the world with her English teacher partner for many years. Small world.

Now, caramel frappe in hand, I can reflect with a least a hint of luster. I'm sipping and writing in Bookmans Cafe, a store where you can bring in old books and trade them for store credit that is also good at their cafe. Score! Alan is a book lover, so he has been trading in books buy the boxful, and I've been happily helping him drink the credits. Too bad it's not a wine bar...

Meanwhile, back at the DMV, I signed the title over to my friend, thus ending an 11 year relationship with my Mitsubishi Galant. 143,000 miles, numerous boyfriends, one husband, one major move, and many trips on Interstate 80. My car, named Kenji, has been there through a lot. High school, college, grad school, and my first year as a "realish" adult. Kenji has listened to my signing, cruised with me on summer days, steadied me on winter roads, and always gotten me to my destinations safely. 

I hit my first deer in Kenji, on a backload in Missouri when my friends and I got lost after a Ben Folds concert. We tied the side mirror on with string, and somehow made it home.

I prepared for the state swim meet in Kenji, listening to Elton John's "Philadelphia Freedom" and hoping for a fast time.

I did calculus homework before school, using the steering wheel as a prop for my textbook.

I texted while driving--behavior I do NOT condone.

I withdrew money from ATMs; I savored fast food and Starbucks.

I held a tiny kitten-my Berlin-on her first day as mine.

I worried about boys, grades, sports, girls, travel, parties, rejection, pretty much everything.

Kenji's stereo got me through the toughest times, drowning out the background noise of worry and frustration, or playing harmony to my victories and good times. 

As my husband and I prepare for Turkey, we have to make big, tough decisions about money and things. I can say that Kenji was hard to let go of. A car is freedom. I won't miss the insurance payments or the price of gas, but I will miss rolling the windows down and signing along. Here's a you, Kenji, for being there for me in a way that another human just couldn't. 

Staying Tuned

Now that the wedding buzz has finally worn off, I'm trying to breath a sigh of relief.

I've got a glass of wine (Jessup Cellars 2009 Cab) gifted by family friends, my husband on the couch next to me, and the fresh air of a Flagstaff summer evening blowing in through our screen door. Life doesn't get much better than this.

I said "trying" in the first sentence because my to-do list seems to be getting longer, rather than shorter. Today, Alan and I finally finished up our wedding thank-you notes. Although the project of writing 150 notes seemed daunting, it was a great exercise in communication and gratitude. Our friends and family were incredibly generous with their gifts, and I'm sure that if Alan and I ever needed help, we have at lest 150 people we could call upon.

The previously mentioned to-do list includes preparations to leave Flagstaff and move to a foreign country. If you've never moved overseas before, I can tell you that it involves a lot of canceling of accounts and services, throwing away of sentimental stuff, and good-bye meals with friends and family.

The move to Turkey has seemed so far away that I've not really mentally prepared yet. I was focused on the end of the semester and the wedding, and now suddenly TURKEY is only 16 days away. I'm moving to a foreign country for a year (or more), and I have a husband. Major life changes--I've got 'em (I also bobbed my hair--representative of the life changes, I guess. Or my obsession with Beyonce.)

I don't really know that much about Turkey, and that's made painfully clear as more and more people ask me questions beginning with "So in Turkey, will you...?" I think this is one of those politeness things that people feel obligated to ask when they don't really know what to say, but they want to show interest--similar to "So, how was your Christmas?"--I always cringe on the inside when people ask that question. "Good?" Seems to be the only answer--yes, with the question mark because really, what else can you say? Anyway, the preemptive Turkey questions bother me because I just want to say, "I'll know more in about a month, so if you could just hold off on that question..." Clearly, I've never been there, so I don't know whether people with be speaking Arabic on the side, or if it will be windy in the summer, or if I will have an easy time learning Turkish. It's a wait-and-see kind of situation: stay-tuned-to-my-blog-and-I'll-fill-you-in. I don't like coming off as ignorant or poorly researched. I want to have the answers, but the questions require a level of hands-on experience, or at least a quick skim of a travel book--I've not done either. My best guesses about all things Turkey are based on my former roommate, a Turk with the biggest heart and strongest political opinions I've seen in a long time.

So, a sigh of relief it isn't; but a glass of good wine, a night in with my husband, and a big adventure on the horizon suit me just fine.

Stay tuned.

Feel free to check out Alan's blog: http://turkishtraves.blogspot.com/

The Burrito Bride

My journal today reads: Marriage, Day 1.

Based on that phrase, you can guess that I got married yesterday.

The ceremony took place in my parents' backyard in Lincoln, Nebraska. My best friends from graduate school were bridesmaids, and my groom's best friend and his brother stood up with him. My mom served as party planner extraordinaire, putting on the most incredible wedding.

Truly, the wedding was exactly what I would have imagined in a perfect scenario: casual, comfortable, sparkly, colorful, tasty, and super fun for all. Our color scheme was citrus--lemon, lime, orange. The maids wore the color of a fresh grapefruit, and our bouquets had interesting yellow balls and succulent plants. My hair was pulled back in a romantic up-do, off my face, waved and tucked into an elegant shape. My groom wore a charcoal suit with vest and gray and yellow checkered tie. The groomsmen wore simple gray pants and vests with white shirts. We looked effortless and chic.

The dance floor (i.e., the basketball court) was lit by four strings of lights running from our balcony, across the court to posts, creating the most beautiful ambiance. The colorful lanterns hung in the trees, providing pops of color in the greenery. Guests were seated all over the lawn, the basketball court, and even on the balcony. The bridal aisle ran from near our garage around the house, through the garden and ended at our water feature, a softly trickling waterfall. One of my bridesmaid's husbands officiated the casual ceremony in a way that met my wants and needs exactly. He got the job done with humor and just the right amount of reverence. Our music was provided by a friend of a friend who played soft guitar music during the processional and dinner.

The day itself was filled with adrenaline for me. I woke up nervous, comparable to the morning of a big swim meet. I had a power breakfast sandwich with my brother, and then met my maids for coffee and our hair appointments. My two maids, though they are good friends, could not be more different. Sarah is a feisty redhead who loves to be the center of attention. She's a samba dancer with a flair for the extravagent. Karen, on the other hand, is more comfortable with simple boho chic and deep conversations about life, God, and experience. At the hair salon, while Sarah and my stylists were doing their best to volumize our hair and add shimmer, Karen's was working to keep simple chic. While Sarah and I were applying our eyeshadow primer, glitter and bronzer, Karen was finished with her classic look, and checking in on my emotions. I couldn't have asked for a better combination of friends to take care of me on my day.

After a photo shoot with my maids, we went back inside so that the groom wouldn't see me until I walked down the aisle. About an hour before the ceremony, my nerves started to get the better of me. I got choked up and teary. Sarah told me to sip water whenever I felt the tears--because you "can't cry when you are drinking." The tricked worked somewhat, until my mom came in the room. All bets are off on the wedding day when it comes to emotional capacity.

As I stood at the top of the bridal aisle with my brother--my escort down the aisle--I felt confident and calm. I could see some guests from where I was standing, and I recognized them as old friends of my parents, people who knew me as an 8-year-old. When my uncles finally signaled for me, my brother and I walked carefully down the flagstone steps and onto the green lawn. My brother would later tell me that I walked really fast, but I don't remember the walk well.

What I do remember were the vows that my groom read. His personal, heartfelt vows were so sweet and endearing. He told our history about us as a couple and when he knew he wanted to marry me. When it was my turn to read he vows I had written, I felt the emotions overwhelming me. I took a sip from my water bottle, and struggled through the tears. I'm not sure how much people heard, but after the ceremony, almost everyone said that I had made them cry right along with me. Normally, I would be embarrassed to cry in front of 150 people, but at my own wedding, I think I have a good reason.

Following the tears, we kissed, and the "Rickroll" (don't look that up) was a little anticlimactic, though a huge relief for me. The wedding party wiped their eyes, boarded the golf cart and took a ton of pictures in a neighbor's backyard before heading back to greet guests.

About 3 kazillion pictures (professional and otherwise) later, we ate dinner, buffet syle: beef, chicken, veggies, greek salad, and berry salad. I drank "I Do" Sangria, and my groom had "Alien Blood" (PBR + Limeaid, his concoction of choice). After dinner, Alan and I made toasts to our parents and grandparents. My toast to my mom's parents was particularly moving, as their 60th wedding anniversary is in two weeks or so.

The wedding party also made tear-worthy speeches and toasts, after which my grandmother insisted that I announce the presence of two other important guests: my Saudi friends (also former students) who traveled all the way from Flagstaff for our wedding. It really made my night to see them at my wedding, even if they did give me a hard time about the tears!

The dance was for sure a highlight of the night. Alan and I had requested that people include a song request on their RSVP card so that we could simply create a playlist, rather than hiring a DJ. Our list, therefore, included everything from Ke$ha and Pitbull's "Timber" to someone's "Pennsylvania Polka" to Vince Gill's "Look at Us". To be honest, I was really nervous that the playlist wouldn't work, but to my surprise, everyone loved it! Alan's family loves dancing, and all of a sudden my Saudi friends are dancing to 80's music with Alan's aunts, my mom is singing along with Tom Jones, and I'm slow dancing with my grandfather (a man who pretty much refuses to dance for any reason). I had purposefully picked out a second dress for the reception so that I would be more comfortable dancing, and I'm sure glad I did. My wedding gown was beautiful, but it was hot and somewhat immobilizing! Once I was in my little white eyelet dress, I was ready to bust a move!

I wish I could put into words the amount of love that I felt on our wedding night. There is nothing like being the bride and center of attention for the evening. Our friends and family's love and generosity seemed to light the party, and I've never felt so completely and unconditionally loved in my life. There are so many wonderful people in my life, especially with the addition of Alan's family.

There's really no other way to express what I feel tonight besides incredible gratitude, coupled with exhaustion. I thought Cambodia was an adventure, but I can already see that being married is going to be the adventure of a lifetime.

Pictures to come!

Countdowns, kindness, and quotes

Today it's really sinking in that in a little over a month, I'll be getting married. In a little over two months, I'll be flying over the ocean en route to Turkey.

I'm not sure what to make of those two things and their quick succession.

I'll be leaving a part of the country that I love, a job that allows me freedom to experiment, and the cradle of graduate school. Though I haven't been a student for nearly a year, I'm still tightly connected to the community of graduate students in the English department here. My fiance is one; so is my roommate; so are most of my friends.

I'll admit, there are plenty of days when I feel boxed in. I haven't gotten to know the faculty with offices around me, and I sometimes feel lonely. I'm not a graduate student, but I'm not a "real" faculty either.

A professor, admittedly one I wasn't that close to during my grad studies, said hello today at Starbucks. His genuine interest in my plans (including a little shock that I was engaged to someone in the department) was really meaningful today.

In the university, and especially at the graduate level, faculty become pseudo parents. Students seek approval and acceptance from them. They teach us how to become part of their field. They challenge and discipline us. They reward us and introduce us to people we need to know. Faculty are very important people in our lives, and it made my day today that a faculty member cared enough about me, a former student, to ask about my life outside school, and show sincere interest in me.

I'm writing about this little blip of my morning with the hope that I never forget the power of being genuinely interested in my students. Even a short conversation can make all the difference.

The philosophical bus driver who occasionally drives me home once mused over the intercom: "The true test of a man's character is in how he treats someone who can do absolutely nothing for him." This quote speaks to me as a teacher, not in that students can't do anything for me, as they are often teach me so much in return; but in that treating people with warmth and kindness, with no expectations in return is a noble thing!

As a writing teacher, I don't approve of the organization that I've set up in this entry. It's just my thoughts on a grateful Thursday afternoon.

Blog Before Breakfast: Flagstaff, I love you.

Now that I'm officially emailing the Turkish consulate in Los Angeles, and preparing to send my passport for its newest visa, the American life in Flagstaff is feeling pretty sweet.

Yes, all the paperwork made it across the ocean, through customs, and to its final destination. I didn't have to hunt down anyone  in the Flagstaff post office, and I won't need any scuba gear to locate discarded documents.

For now, I'm here in Arizona, though for those of you who haven't been to Flagstaff, this isn't your grandmother's Arizona. The heat, cacti, and commercialism that consume the Phoenix metro are all but gone once you've driven two hours north on I-17. I once heard that there are at least 7 different ecosystems in Arizona, making it one of the most diverse places...probably ever. I'll just go with that. After teaching  first year composition for an entire year, my perception of good writing habits are a little warped. In any case, life in Arizona (at least for a white heterosexual person with an American passport) is good.

While most of the state is either desolate, arid prairie or mountainous desert, Flagstaff is nestled in a dense area of forest. Ponderosa pines and the San Francisco peaks are the defining feature of this place.  For me, the trees' only redeeming quality is that they are green. Otherwise, they are full of neon green pollen that causes me to need 2 showers a day, a netti pot, and two types of allergy medication. Besides, for a Nebraskan, these trees give me claustrophobia because I can't see all the way to the horizon. "The Peaks," on the other hand, are one of my favorite things in Flagstaff. They are somewhat isolated from the mountain ranges that protrude from Arizona's arid plains.  Held sacred to Native American tribes of the region, these mountains rise high above Flagstaff, reaching just over 12,000 feet. Scientists believe that The Peaks were once a single stratovolcano reaching at least 15000 feet. A major eruption created the multi-peaked skyline that is now familiar in Flagstaff. I like to imagine the volcano, and the dinosaurs of the time, though my perception is always too animated to take seriously. I used to watch "The Land Before Time" on a weekly basis.

The Peaks also orient the city of Flagstaff. Flagstaff has grown in an arc around the base of The Peaks. As it was built along an important railroad artery, Flagstaff is cut in half by a busy set of tracks that see 128 trains per day. Parallel to the tracks runs what used to be Route 66, brought to fame in the golden age of American auto travel. This road is now the basis one of the most frustrating aspects of Flagstaff--the traffic flow. As the city is not set up in a grid, but rather in a curve, there are few major roads for traffic to flow. On weekends and during the summer tourist season, Route 66, better known (depending on the part of town) as Milton/Sante Fe/Hwy 89, becomes a stuck drain. Tourists (especially those coming from the south of West) need to traverse the town in order to get to the Grand Canyon, or the myriad other natural wonders surrounding Flagstaff. Hence, the infrastructure for a small town crumples under the stress of traffic going to one of the US's most popular tourist destinations.

Luckily, Flagstaff has a few backroads and tricks up its sleeves for "locals" like me. Upon first moving here, in fact, I read an article with this structure, "You might be a local if..." One of the first signs was if you could get anywhere in town without using Milton--the clogged artery. If pressed, I think I could do it now, after three years of frustrating stand stills.

Now that I'm a local, I feel inclined to share local places that I frequent. No longer a slave to the concept of "Macy's Vegetarian Cafe"--I've only been there probably 10 times total. Here are some of my top pics:

1. Bookman's Entertainment Exchange: While I guess the books and entertainment should be the draw (admittedly, I have bought and sold several travel books), I spend most of my time in the cafe. One of the best things about this cafe is that you can bring old books that you don't want anymore, sell them to the store, and buy coffee with the money. Sweet deal. I do a lot of grading in the well-lit, cute-but-not-too-cute cafe section of the store. Tall Americano with room, please. Mexican hot chocolate (yes, I want the whipped cream--what kind of question is that?)

2. Campus Coffee Bean: This cafe, tucked into a tacky strip mall next to Target, has some of the best coffee, chai and food in Flagstaff. Plus, every day from 4-6 PM, it's buy one, get one espresso drinks. Convenient for dates--with people or with grading, studying, job searching... Yes, I've ordered two for myself. The second one was free--what should I do? Waste that? I'll have a house chai and a small latte. The gyro salad, please.

3. NiMarco's Pizza: Pizza by the slice: quick, easy, cheap. I've been there for graduate school meet and greets, for lunch with my colleagues, for dinner with my date, and after a long day when I don't want to cook. Anytime is pizza time. The shop itself isn't anything special, but the crust on this pizza is perfection! I've gotta have the pesto pizza with artichokes.

4. Kickstand Coffee: Definitely a cafe playing to the hipsters in Flag, this cafe mixes one part pretense with two parts delish. Modern art--including this really cool old window frosted, and painted with a power line--overwhelm the walls, while hipster music floats from speakers. The menu, clearly playing to the hip and the skiers has items like "Snow Bunny" and "Fixie". In case you don't know, a fixie is a bike built with no gears and no brakes. Why anyone would want such a bike is beyond me, but the hipsters can't get enough. I do order the namesake drink though. It's soymilk, yerba mate, rooibos, honey and cinnamon. Now I see why it's hipster-hippie. But it tastes good. And it's huge. Perfect for marathon grading of freshman writing.

I teach my students that less is usually more when it comes to writing, but it's hard advice to take myself. I woke up this morning wanting to write about my city before I leave it. I'm ready to move on to the next stage of life, but the American West will always have a piece of my heart. The open, desolate landscapes, the turquoise, the dust, the infinite possibilities. Here's a taste of Flagstaff so that I can remember the West how I really knew it: as a hippie-hipster-coffee-traffic-pine needling-ecosystem-volcano.

Great minds drink (coffee) alike

Signed, Dated, and Sent. The Adventure Begins!

There's nothing life making life-changing decisions on a Sunday evening. Monday morning, at the university post office, I clutched a thick envelop containing copies of my passport, my degrees, and my signature accepting a teaching job in Kayseri, Turkey. The forms, written in Turkish, were intimidating to fill out and sign last night. My Turkish roommate's interpretation and Google translate eased my nerves just enough for me to wiggle a pen around next to "Imza" (signature) and try to remember to write the date with day-month-year order.

Back at the post office, I made up my mind to spend the extra $40 to have the package tracked from Flagstaff to Kayseri. Due to the sensitive information contained, I thought $40 a reasonable insurance, or at least investment in my peace of mind. The postal clerk insisted that I "probably" didn't need to fill out a customs form because it was just papers. "Probably" "passport information" and "make it to the destination," not to mention "$40," are not words that I want to put together when it comes to accepting a job in a foreign land. "Where do you keep the customs forms?" I asked with a disapproving look on my face.

As if by karmic law, I spent the next 25 minutes loading and reloading the USPS website's online customs form to no avail. "The site must be down," said another clerk, who had clearly just come in from a smoke break, "you'll probably have to wait. Yep. That's what I'd do. Wait."

If you know my hyperbolic tendencies at all, the thought of extending this acceptance process even one more day seemed like hell on earth. I began to sweat.

Then, I overheard the original clerk's phone conversation, "Yes, they told us that under absolutely no circumstance should we be using the paper customs forms. They said we'd get a $25,000 fine." Short pause. "But, it's just papers, so does she even need a form?" Pause. "Oh OK, sounds good. Thanks, Loretta."

"Down at the main office," original clerk said, "they say you don't need the customs form."

Torn by my instinctual desires to 1) protect my documents with all possible forms needed, and 2) be rid of the stressful envelop as soon as possible, I contemplated the envelop reaching Istanbul without a customs form, being assessed as useless, incomplete mail, and then tossed in the Mediterranean and slowly sinking to the bottom. I'll never get a job. I'll be homeless. I'll never be able to have a cat.

Clearly, my impending career doom was not stronger than my obsession with finishing projects. I wiped my brow and faked confidence as I watched the clerk attach my address form to the crisp envelop, peel and stick the envelop closed, and then casually toss it into a deep bin that was only mildly reminiscent of the Mediterranean. Bon voyage, packet of important documents. İyi yolculuklar! Güle, güle! See you in Kayseri.

In years past, I have traveled abroad alone, wary of what lie beyond the jet-way, just beyond the guest house, or over the next ridge in the distance. My documents have flown overseas alone, my luggage has traveled solo, and my heart has stayed in the states with someone else.

The difference, this time, is that the envelop contained two sets of documents, one for me, and the other for my fiance, Alan. Our documents will cross the ocean together, just like we will in a few months. I can take my heart with me this time. I don't have to fear what's beyond the luggage carousel or how I'll catch the right bus from the airport. I've got a partner to explore the world with. It's a new adventure in Turkey, and in sharing my life with a partner. Here's to new adventures and the next chapter in our lives.


And, if the documents do meet a watery demise just outside of Istanbul, Ms. Loretta will be getting a call.

Next Adventure: Turkey September 2014?

Bürüngüz Mosque in Kayseri

This post seems a little preemptive, as I haven't actually signed the contract yet, but I'm on the verge of accepting a job offer in Kayseri, Turkey with my fiance, Alan.

In any case, my current roommate is Turkish, and of course, I've already sought out my first Turkish lessons.

The furnishings of our apartment are now labeled with index cards to teach me their Turkish names through repetition and association. It's gotta be time for a word wall! (Sorry, this is a TESLer joke). What I love about Turkish is that they use the Roman alphabet, and for the most part follow direct phoneme-grapheme relationships. That is, anytime I see an "o" it has the same pronunciation. For learners, this is a blessing--I should know after three years of trying to persuade students to pronounce "food" and "good" with different vowel sounds, and trying to convince native English speakers that my name is in fact pronounced Gee-nuh, as opposed to Jenn-uh. By the way, yes, I am sure about how to pronounce my name...

Another concept that I'm enjoying as I learn Turkish vocabulary is vowel harmony. Vowel harmony in a language means that words (excluding foreign loan words) include only front or only back vowels. I hope it will make spelling and pronunciation easier. Check out the name of the mosque above: ü, ü, ü. Awesome.

Anyway, you can most likely look forward to some posts about the complexities of Turkish grammar, and the deliciousness of Turkish tea and coffee.

Maybe one day I'll post in Turkish!