The view from here

Here are a few photos of our university, our apartment and our pick-up truck (will be officially ours on Tuesday) in Chiang Rai. Our living room isn't set up well yet, so we will wait on those photos.

Mae Fah Luang, a.k.a the university in the park

Our bedroom (Grandma, your mom's tablecloth is on the nightstand)

kitchen view 1

kitchen view 2

our awesome balcony

our truck, name TBA, 2010 Isuzu D-max Spacecab

Bug thoughts

One of the striking features of Southeast Asia is the amount of flora and fauna.

This morning I saw the biggest spider of my life hanging out in the entry to our apartment building. No big deal, just a GIANT spider whose leg span was at least the size of my palm. If that thing comes inside my apartment, I don't know what I'll do. Call for Alan, probably.

Right now, I'm listening to the frantic buzz at the end of a fly's life. It's stuck in the web of a much smaller spider that apparently has set a trap near my desk. The fly is trying to get away, but evolution has made that spider's string too sticky. He's stuck. He will either be eaten alive or die of starvation--either way, he's done. I'm a little grossed out and a little fascinated.

Just some bug thoughts for now.

Ode to street food

For the past two nights, Alan and I have been exploring a little street food district just off campus.

Although street food is a common culprit for what ales travelers' bellies, I think it's an important part of experiencing a place. I also rationalize that it's somehow building my immunity to tummy bugs. It's like a vaccine that I won't faint from. Not right then, anyway.

No, this isn't a fainting story.

So, back to the street food vendors. They set up little stalls along the sidewalk, or in larger covered areas. Many of them sell the same things, so as I browse, I always look for what catches my eye out of uniqueness.

Tonight, I spotted a large table covered in jugs of ingredients, and in the middle of all the jars, there was a pan of freshly fried something. It looked like the homemade tortilla chips that my Mom makes for tortilla soup. They are undoubtedly the best part of that dish. Salted, and a little crispy, a little soft. The Thai version was a little thicker, but looked really good. I could see where they were being deep fried, and doggonit, deep-frying always makes things more delicious.

So, I watched a few Thais get their meal so I could just point and hope to get the same thing. Here's a summary of my food. A handful of egg noodles goes into the bowl, then some chili sauce, fish sauce, sugar, peanuts, two kinds of garlic, red pepper flakes, fresh cilantro, green onion, a dash of MSG, and a spritz of soy sauce. The bowl is topped off with some of those crispy tortilla-ish things (after she has used a scissor to chop them into bite-size pieces). The cook then quickly stirs the entire bowl and hands them to you. The fresh and slightly spicy aroma of Thai food is so good in general, and this dish didn't disappoint. It was delicious, and about 75 cents.

My tastebuds are loving Thailand. Between the awesomely cheap and delicious street food, and the ever-present freshly-brewed ice coffee, I'm pretty much in heaven here. I don't even miss cheese yet.

For Bebe

Note: I wrote this on Saturday evening--it's now Monday afternoon.

I often plan blog entries in advance. Today, I was planning how I’d write some detailed descriptions of our day deep cleaning (I’m talking scour pads and bleach) our new apartment.

Sometimes between my plan and when I sit down to actually write, other things happen.

I called my mom to chat about Thailand, and I found out that my cat Berlin died last week, probably right around the time when I left Nebraska. She wasn’t old or sick, so I definitely wasn’t expecting it. After she had been missing for a few days, my brother found her little body on the edge of their property. Based on what he and my stepdad saw, she was probably in a fight, or got injured somehow. She loved to hunt mice and rabbits in the swampy area behind their house, so I guess at least she was in one of her favorite places.

The death of a pet is heart-wrenching. Berlin, or Bebe, as I usually called her, was my cat. I made a questionable decision when I was 19, and my roommate and I ended up with two kittens. Unfortunately, around the same time, I started to do the world-traveling that now defines a lot of my existence.

So my little black cat with white paws and whiskers got to live with my parents, in a much bigger house, with a better yard, and with more places to pee. She had a little trouble adjusting to new places, and usually resorted to peeing on carpet or other surfaces to try to mark her space.

I think she had settled into her surroundings pretty well in the past 5 or so years. Once I left for graduate school, she had discovered the heated floors in my parents’ bathroom. The warm tiles became a favorite place. Recently, she had taken to burrowing under the comforter on my parents’ bed. My mom often sent me photos of the little bump under the blanket.

I’ve often felt guilty that I couldn’t provide for Bebe myself, but I know she had a good life at my parents’ house—much better than she would have had tagging along with me on international flights.

Bebe was a natural hunter and she loved to practice with toys. We used to play a version of fetch with these small mouse toys that I would send careening across the wooden floors of the entryway. Bebe would skitter along after them, struggling to keep her grip on the slick floor. She’d pounce and attack the little mouse for a few seconds before trotting back to me with the mouse in her mouth, ready for the next round. That part of her personality was unique.

She was also a finicky eater, preferring the “paté” version of Friskies food over other textures. Bebe also loved yogurt, especially finishing the last bit from a plastic carton. We had that in common.

My favorite moments with Berlin were our cuddle time. Although she wasn’t a people-cat, when Berlin wanted affection, she made it known. She’d get right up on your lap or your chest, and nuzzle your face with her face. If you stopped petting too soon, she’d nuzzle under your hand to inspire a few more strokes. She liked to knead legs and stomachs as she purred and enjoyed the love. The last time I saw Bebe was one of these cuddle times, and I’m grateful for that.

I’ve always loved cats, and I’m heartbroken that I won’t see Bebe again. I loved her the best I could when I was home, and thought of her every day when I wasn’t.

Her body is buried now in the back yard, under a little wooden cross. I imagine her spirit roaming kitty heaven on warmed tile floors where there’s always a mouse to play with, plenty of paté, and a blanket to burrow under when you need to rest.

Rest in peace my Bebe girl. I will always treasure the time we had together during your life with our family. One day I’ll join you in kitty heaven, but until then I know you’ll be watching over me.

Some Things are Just the Same Everywhere!

Everywhere you go, there you are.

I’m pretty sure I’ve started other entries this way, but today—my 28th birthday—it just seems like the right phrase. Or maybe this:

Everywhere you go, there are your ridiculous medical idiosyncrasies.

In general, I’m a super healthy person; however, vasovegal response is something that I’ve dealt with my entire adult life. Going to the doctor for shots or to get blood drawn is a huge ordeal for me because of my tendency to faint. Apparently, the stress of the procedure causes a spontaneous seizing up of the blood vessels in the brain, resulting in momentary loss of consciousness.

Today Alan and I had to get check-ups and some lab work at the Mae Fah Luang University Medical Center as part of the process to get our work permits. I was pretty nervous about the lab work, as I know what a pain in the ass my condition is for doctors and nurses. They give me a very routine shot or take some blood and I end up slumped on the floor, unconscious.

I explained to the staff that I at least needed to lay down so that if I fainted, I wouldn’t hurt myself.

The young female nurses, decked out in lavender and mint uniforms, braces, and hair-bows directed me to the Emergency Room so I could lay down. It was certainly an interesting choice for someone who is clearly squeamish about blood and the like.

Anyway, once I entered the ER, I removed my shoes and hopped onto an empty bed between two people with injuries that looked fairly serious. I’d guess one had a broken leg and the other had road rash from a motorbike crash. As the nurse had said a few minutes earlier, “You’re welcome to Thailand.” The grammatical and pragmatic mismatch of her utterance seemed somehow very fitting as the tourniquet was wound around my arm, protruding my veins for the draw (I’m a little squeamish just writing that).

I optimistically asked the nurse to also tell me my blood type after the draw because I honestly don’t know—I tried to test it in biology class during my undergraduate degree, but nearly fainted after not being able to draw any blood from a needle prick. I had to lay on one of the lab tables while my classmates fanned me. Very embarrassing. However, I had no problem dissecting a cat later in the semester. Weird how that works.

I didn’t mind the prick of the needle, and I thought I was in the clear as I laid a few minutes to rest afterward. I was still feeling a little car sick from the days’ previous adventure to Doi Tung (Royal Village) which awaits visitors at the end of a super curvy mountain road. I stood up, and made it back to where Alan was standing in the waiting room.

All was in order as Alan and I took seats on a long and cushioned bench to await the results of our blood and urine samples. As I stared at a sign announcing an “Influenza Corner” (what is that, anyway?) I felt a wave of nausea and heat. Instinctually, I tried to lay down in Alan’s lap to avoid the fainting crumple to the floor…

The next thing I remember was a vivid flash of images and coming back to reality totally disoriented. I guess I was out for at least 30 seconds before I awoke frightened and gasping to Thai nurses fanning me and asking in their sweet ways whether I was okay.

As per my usual modus operando, I thanked them, in Thai, and immediately moved to lie flat out on the hospital floor. Once on the floor, staring up at a graceful daddy long legs spider on the ceiling above me, I realized I was in Thailand, and that yet again, I fainted because of a needle-based procedure. Thailand is a beautiful place, but coming to in a Thai hospital is, how can I put this, probably NOT on my list of to-dos. The staff were a little horrified that I was on the floor, but they dealt with the large foreigner sprawled in front of their check-in desk pretty well. One of the male nurses loosened the side zipper of my dress pants and checked to whether the band of my bra might be too tight. It sounds a little weird, but I thought it was medically sound and a helpful gesture to ensure my proper blood flow. My blood pressure was found to be normal, and a fan was brought to help me stop sweating (my chronic issue in SE Asia, regardless of whether I’m passed out on a hospital floor). I had hot tears running out of my eyes from disorientation and embarrassment for causing such a spectacle.

For the next few minutes, I just laid on the floor trying to get my bearings. The tape holding the cotton ball to the offending needle mark was pulling too tightly, so I asked Alan to remove it. I stared up at the spider and wondered why this always happens. After what was probably 30 minutes on the floor, Alan helped me move the the bench. Shortly after that, our colleague arrived to pick us up. She was surprised to see how badly I was doing. I couldn’t even sit up because of the continuing nausea. Fortunately, we had to wait for the results anyway, so my need for rest wasn’t obtrusive…yet.

Once the doctor was ready to sign off on our paperwork, saying we were indeed “free from defect”—an irony not lost on me, the lady who is way too nauseous to even sit up—I became a bit more of a burden. I couldn’t sit without feeling the warm tingles of an impending faint or puke session.

Me and Zip the cat, chilling on the floor...

Ultimately, I ended up back in the ER to rest. A flamboyant nurse brought me water and a cold pack that actually seemed to speed my recovery pretty well. The doctor, on the other hand, decided that I had some exhaustion and electrolyte imbalances, so he prescribed two anti-barf meds and sent a few packets of rehydration mix home with me.

The short car ride between the Medical Center and our new on-campus digs was hellish. Every bump sent a wave of nausea through my entire body. Nevertheless, we made it, and we even stopped to pick up our freshly laundered sheets to go with the new mattress.

Alan set up the bed as quickly as he could so that I could lie down again. We also fixed me some of the rehydration drink, which seemed to help immediately. One thing that is very hard at the beginning of a trip to a very foreign place is knowing how to keep your body in balance, I’ve had two bouts of big jet lag and several long plane rides in the past two weeks, not to mention lots of sweating the moment we hit the ground in Thailand. My body has no idea what’s going on, and add to that some BBQ chicken assholes and a little carsickness—no wonder I was on the floor of a hospital.

The doctor did sign off on my bill of health, after asking whether I could be pregnant (I’m not). According to the tests, I don’t have a meth addiction or syphilis. Two pieces of good news (I wasn’t worried).

So, after three days in the country, I’ve already had lab work and two visits to the ER. The funny thing is, I still don’t know my blood type.

Chicken without Borders

I ate barbequed chicken ass within 200 meters of the Thai-Burmese border.

Feel free to stop reading now, as I’ve totally spoiled the plot of this entry.

It all started at the Poonyamantra resort where our faculty orientation was being held. Following a light dinner, a few colleagues’ stomaches were still wanting more, so we set off to find a certain Chinese barbeque spot in the Thai-Burmese border town of Mae Sai. I didn’t know where the restaurant was before we got in the car, but since I’ve always been fascinated by Burma, and by land crossings, not to mention by grilled meats, this was the opportunity of a lifetime—just 3 days into my stay in Thailand.

Mae Sai at 10 PM is a quiet city. Birds lined up for hundreds of feet on telephone wires strung just in front of hotel facades and dentistry buildings. The buildings themselves hd a European flare, tall and narrow with triangular roofs and wooden frames. In the glow of street lights, we found our barbeque stand. Some of the experienced Thais chose what we would be eating, and then they volunteered to take us closer to the border for photos.

The border itself had the same strangely European style of the building facades—a little bit awkwardly vertical. As we got closer, the signs were translated from Thai to English, Chinese, and the wonderfully mysterious Burmese script.

The natural border is formed by a river, and the guards were just closing the traffic bridge. A foot path to the “Northern-most point in Thailand” was still open, so we braved a dark alleyway beneath the bridge for a photo op.

On the Thai side, we stood in a well-lit and comparatively vibrant scene. Just across the flowing brown water, though was a much different picture. The Burmese side of the footbridge border was mostly dark, with just one guard standing watch in the moonlit shadows a blocky colorless building. The Burmese side looked how I’d picture North Korea in terms of lack of flare, lack of color, and lack of people out and about on a Wednesday evening.

Where's the Y?

View across to Myanmar (a.k.a Burma)

Well, here we are

It's the Russian Roulette of meat!

The grilling process

We snapped a few shots of ourselves, the razor wire wrapped around the fences, a strange sign saying “Welcome to M anmar” with the “y” clearly missing. Note: Burma and Myanmar refer to the same country—the name you choose is very political, but I choose Burmese as the adjective because I think Myanmar as an adjective and noun is confusing.

So, back to the grilled meat we went. The type of barbeque is apparently particular to this city. It’s called “Ma-La” which is the name of a special spice mix used on the meat. The result is delicious, no matter what part of the animal you’re eating. I ate intestine, stomach, kidney, and few other things I didn’t know. By the third round of meat, it was my turn to pick, so I went up to the cart and surveyed the options. Knowing it’s better to eat first and ask later, I selected a few interesting looking skewers of meat.

I later found out that I had picked beef heart and chicken asshole. Who knew that beef heart could sound so appealing by contrast? In case you’re wondering about the texture of the ass, it was crispy on the edges and chewy in the middle. Not the worst thing I’ve ever eaten. I managed to eat my share, and so did everyone else. There was a lot of variety, so the strange cuts weren’t a problem.

So, like I told you in the first sentence, I ate chicken ass 200 meters from the border. It was awesome.

First Impressions of Thailand

I wish I had composed this entry sooner, when my first impressions were more “first,” but here I am, five-ish days in.

Chiang Rai is gorgeous. It’s a green and luscious paradise of oversized leaves, tropical flowers, and misty mountains. It still takes my breath away. The campus where I now where, Mae Fah Luang University, is in the middle of all the lusciousness. If you’re a Nebraskan reading this, imagine the Henry Dorley Zoo, but without the animals. Add in some stray dogs and kittens, and you’ve basically got how our campus looks. It’s beautiful.

And even thought the campus itself looks like a resort in terms of natural beauty and food options, our Dean generously took the English department to a small resort for a multi-day orientation. After an introductory meeting on campus, we continued with some community and cultural service at a temple on the way to the resort. Our department offered the monks a large Buddhist lent candle and a tub of supplies for their daily lives. We participated in a Buddhist prayer session, and then continued on, heading North from the university, which is already 15 kilometers outside of Chiang Rai proper.

The resort property was quaint and cute, with lots of birdhouses and tropical foliage. Most of the meetings were in a large room that was well air-conditioned (yes!), but I spend the most quality time with my new colleagues over the many meals we ate together at the resort. All of the food was excellent and fresh. My favorite item, though, was the freshly brewed Americanos (form of coffee) that were available all day. I must have had 10 over the 3 days.

Just now, Alan and I are settling into our new apartment, a semi-furnished apartment on campus. We bought a mattress, bedding, and towels with the help of a colleague, and we plan to buy other essentials over the weekend. The apartment did not come with much in the kitchen. Only a sink. If we want to cook, we will need to buy a hot plate and/or microwave, and probably a small refrigerator. For the time being, we will eat the excellent campus cafeteria food and enjoy not having to do dishes, save for a few coffee cups here and there.

The people we’ve met so far have been sweet, courteous, and the kind of people who go out of their way to help. Speaking Thai, or I guess, NOT speaking, understanding, or reading Thai has been a challenge for us. It took a long time for us to learn the basics in Turkish, and I know we are in for a steep learning curve here too. I’m ready.

Big tree with strange other things growing on it (I said "What are those!?)

My name, written in Thai; and my new university photo

Inside the Buddhist temple

Coolest flowers at the resort

Rice field--we are in Asia after all!

Overall, my first impression of Thailand is hugely positive, much more so than my usual first impressions of places. I think Alan and I are in for many good things in Thailand.

Notes from the US

Yummy picnic with my in-laws in Flagstaff

Alan and Walter Dog

Bridesmaids in Phoenix

Turkish Breakfast with the family

Eleven days in America: four in Flagstaff, three in Phoenix, and four in Lincoln. A lot of it was eating, but most of it was reconnecting with friends and family in my various home bases in the US.

I enjoyed eggs, bacon, and a lot of coffee for breakfast. Shredded Mini-Wheats with almond milk, an espresso set from a Flagstaff coffee boutique, a sushi night with my parents, an Arby’s meal with my in-laws, In-N-Out burger with an old friend. Alan and I made beyti kebab (spiced meat inside a crispy lavash wrap) for his parents, and I served up a grand Turkish breakfast for my parents and grandparents.

I ate as much Dairy Queen ice cream cake as I could in 48 hours, and I had Mexican food as often as my body would allow.

I got to live out my fantasy shopping spree at Target. In preparation for the heat and humidity I’ll be encountering for the next year, I loaded my cart with sunscreen, cornstarch powder, and an additional indestructible water bottle.

Alan and I bought rain jackets and new backpacks at REI.

Did I mention that I acquired a much-needed new shoe wardrobe? Thank you Zappos. Ah consumerism—I love you. I wish I got paid to name drop these companies.

So, superficial eating and shopping out of the way, let’s recap the real highlights of my visit.

Critters: I got to spend time with Alan’s dog, Walter. He’s an old yellow lab who is still sweet as ever with his long jowls drawing his face downward. He appears to be playing a banjo with his back leg when you scratch the spot just above his hip. In Phoenix, I stayed with a friend’s parents. They’ve got two friendly cats who provided my kitty-therapy. Finally, back in Lincoln, I got to take the big blacklab/shepard to the bark park for a swim. I also spent quality time with my cats. Twilight, the 20-year-old cat who has been a best friend since I was 8, is still sweet and cuddly, though her age has taken a toll on her eyesight and agility. Berlin, the tuxedo-colored kitten I adopted without much forethought (college will do that to you), has grown into a sleek and petite cat who likes to burrow under the covers on my parents bed. It’s darn cute. She’s not a people-cat like Twilight, but she has her moments of affection.

Friends: Although most of my friends have dispersed from my homebases to locales around the country and around the world, I was able to meet up for a pedicure and dinner with a friend from volleyball in Flagstaff and another friend for that tasty In-N-Out burger in Phoenix just before my flight to Nebraska.

One of the most important reasons that I came home between Turkey and Thailand was to be a part of one of my best friend’s weddings. She got married in Phoenix during the only weekend I was in the US this year. By the way, being so jet-set has my ego a little inflated! It was so much fun spending time with the bride and getting to know the other maids better. For the bachelorette party, we went to a drink-wine-and-paint bar where we made our best attempts at recreating an ambitious scene. Between the wine and the cute painter assistants, we had a great night! The rehearsal dinner was held in a trendy wine bar in downtown Tempe (I think). It was such a treat to order alcohol with my dinner, as that was a near impossibility in Kayseri. I enjoyed the downtown vibe a lot. The next day, the maids got ready together in a cloud of hairspray and shimmer lotion. I loved it. It’s so fun to be girly every now and then. It occurs to me that I often document the details of life abroad, but that the details of American life are pretty cool too. The ceremony itself was short and sweet. The groom’s father officiated, and he got a little choked up, which sent the room into collective tears. Very sweet. During the reception, my friend’s unique interest in Samba and Brazilian music made an appearance in the form of a Brazillian drum line. The exotic rhythm had us all dancing and following them out of the building into the heat of an August night in Phoenix. The night didn’t stop there, though! We followed up the reception with a pub crawl on Mill Avenue, a hip area of Tempe. I can’t say it was much of a crawl, as Alan and I spent the night catching up with old friends from Flagstaff in the same pub. A wonderful night.

By the time I made it to my own family in Nebraska, I was really ready to see them. After a year, 15-year-old brothers look VERY different. My brother was suddenly the same height as me, with a voice a couple octaves lower. We reverted to our usual ways immediately, conning our parents into a late-night ice cream run on the way back from the airport. Home sweet home.

My priorities for the Nebraska visit were to maximize time with family (grandparents in particular) and pets. I saw my grandparents every day that I was in Nebraska—something I’m very proud of. I’m very close to them, and I had a lot of fun telling them everything about Turkey. They humored me for a Turkish breakfast, which turned out pretty good considering that I had to make do with American ingredients. Amish beef sausage plus some red pepper and garlic is actually pretty close to sucuk (Turkish sausage). I served the whole nine yards: tomatoes, cucumbers, cheese, bread, olives, Nutella, sausage with eggs, Turkish omelette, and of course Turkish tea. I even cooked Turkish coffee after the meal with a cezve I brought from Kayseri. Yum. It was an impressive spread, and I loved sharing details of the meal with my family. One of my brother’s friends had stayed the night, so he probably got a little more than he bargained for when we invited him to the table.

Although it was a short trip, I feel like I squeezed out a lot of goodness. My bags are repacked, and probably sitting on one of those little airport trolleys at the moment. I’m ready to get back to my work as a teacher. I don’t really know what to expect from Chiang Rai, but I’m sure it has a lot of surprises in store for us. I hope we will find a peaceful place to live for a few years and experience a new culture.

Wish us luck and smooth flight connections. I’m already looking at an hour delay out of Omaha as I fly to Chicago to meet up with Alan.

Last days in Kayseri

Last night I made my last (hopefully) trip to downtown Kayseri. Alan and I decided to accompany our friend on her errand because we didn't have anything to do.

It was a nice experience for me. Normally riding the bus and dealing with the swarms of shoppers downtown is way too much for me. However, knowing that this was the last time, I was able to see the city with new eyes I enjoyed myself, and even snapped a few photos.

We went to the big mall for  some sandwiches in a cafe. After that, we did a a little shopping and then took a short walk downtown. We passed several çiğ köfte places (vegetarian, grain based patties), a handful of Syrian-owned businesses, a few stray cats, and even a golden retriever.

We posed for photos on the pedestrian bridge overlooking the Kayseri's main drag, Sivas Bulavard. The bright lights and busy road against the purple sky were somewhat reminiscent of Las Vegas, though the similarities end there.

The busride back to our apartment was typical: overcrowded, hot, and jerky. I tried to take it in and enjoy it for what it was.

It's so easy to find the flaws in daily life. I was happy to feel a sense of renewal and appreciation yesterday. I've only got 2 days left in Turkey, so I'll try to focus on the good.

Last road trip in Turkey

I'm nursing a single-serve french press of INDUSTRIAL strength coffee this morning. I never really measure how much coffee I put in, and today I clearly went overboard. However, such caffeination is totally conducive to regaling a beautiful weekend on the Black Sea.

My Turkish friend and former roommate (and co-worker) in Flagstaff is from Zonguldak, a city on the Black Sea, a few hours east of Istanbul. She is one of the coolest people I've ever met, in terms of adaptability, self-confidence, humility, and of course, her bad-ass haircut. She's got thick black curls cut into an asymmetrical short bob that suits her perfectly. I love it and I'm totally jealous. She's got a cool style, and she loves cats and coffee. I mean, what could be more perfect for me? Oh yeah, and she loves to make jewelry and watch American crime drama shows. And eat ice cream. And gossip. And share her breakfast cooking with me. It was perfection when we lived together. She didn't even judge me for my obsession with peanut butter or Usher.

So, my friend invited Alan and I to join her family for Eid (the end of Ramadan celebration) at their new apartment in Bartın, a city just an hour or so from where she grew up. It was a full day's drive from Kayseri, thanks in no small part to the indecipherable mess that is the highway system in the city of Ankara. We wanted to avoid the toll road, and in doing so ended up adding about 3 hours of extra driving to our trip because we were lost in Ankara. I can justify some of the problem by saying that Turkish highways, like US highways are labeled on maps with numbers: D-100, O-20, etc. However, in the city of Ankara, none of the signs have these numbers. Instead, they only have city names and Ankara neighborhood names (which I don't have memorized...). So, it's really not clear where you are going, except that you're going in the general direction of Istanbul, Konya, or Samsun. These places are hundreds of miles away. No signs said Zonguldak. That was a problem for us.

Anyway...

We made it. I even got to use some Turkish to ask for directions. How cool.

Sweaty and exhausted from the haul, we were warmly greeted and immediately served a multi-course dinner alongside two of her friends from the US, a retired French/Russian professor and a former Kyrgyz Peacecorps volunteer. It was the first of many beautiful, enormous meals that we were served.

After dinner, we went to a nearby beach for an evening dip. Let me just say that Turkey has some of the most beautiful beaches I've ever seen. I've added the Black Sea to my most beautiful places list after seeing the clear blue water framed by sheer rock cliff faces, white sand, and lush forest. I mean, wow! The placid water was the perfect antidote to a long day of hot driving.

We finished the night at a tea garden, recalling fond memories of our shared experiences in Flagstaff.

The next morning, a massive Turkish breakfast awaited us. In case you don't know about these breakfasts, let me describe the spread in a list:

• menemen (finely chopped peppers, onions, and tomatoes fried with eggs)
• fresh bread
• gozleme (philo dough lightly fried with butter)
• assorted cheeses
• assorted olives
• at least 3 kinds of fresh jam
• honey
• helva (a sweet paste/cookie-ish substance)
• cherry tomatoes
• cucumbers
• peppers
• black tea (tons of refills)
• Turkish coffee

I'm sure I've forgotten some of the things included, but seriously, it's a huge spread, and there is no extra room on the table. By the end, you've eaten so much that you need to come up for air, and your heart rate has increased by 50% from all the caffeine.

Following that breakfast, we piled into a car headed for Safronbolu, a UNESCO World Heritage city, famed for, what else, Saffron. This city's oldest buildings are reminiscent of German Fachwerkhauser,  those houses made with wooden beams and stucco-type material. After a few hot minutes under midday heat, we ducked into a mostly covered market where venders were selling handmade jewelry, cloth, and saffron-infused sweets and perfume. It was my favorite market yet because it was relatively quiet and low pressure, not to mention that the products were unique, well-priced, and felt of good quality. I picked up a few things, including a handmade beaded bracelet that I fell in love with.

We ordered refreshments in the oldest cafe in the city, shaded by grapevine-covered trellises. We watched as the barista cooked stone-ground Turkish coffee literally over hot coals. It was pretty cool, and totally deserving of the steep price tag. I could have sat in that place for hours.

After returning from Safronbolu, we went back to the beach for more swimming and sand castle building. There is nothing like a bunch of twenty- and thirty-somethings building a sand castle together.

That night we enjoyed the refreshments we had brought from Kayseri together and had a great time well into the wee morning hours.

The next morning, we loaded up on another Turkish breakfast and then set off for a marathon day: beach, family village visit, and restaurant dinner. It might not sound like much, but for someone like me, any of those things by themselves could constitute one day's activity. Let me give some details:

The beach: a different beach than we had been going to, and even more striking because of the cliff faces, rocky island (perfect for Alan to jump off of) and lack of busy streets nearby.

We swam and sunbathed for several hours and then we faced a few challenges. There was only one changing room for the entire beach, so we waited in line. I ended up changing in the WC (bathroom), and disappointingly, I had to sit my bag on the floor. It was horrible, but at least it was so dimly lit that I could barely see what I was sitting it in. Anyway, unshowered and still sandy, we got back in our cars to head for the village. My friend's father is from a small village several kilometers from this beach.

Not more than a minute into our journey, a major traffic jam halted us. Overflow parking on the narrow, steep dirt roads leading away from the beach had clogged traffic so badly that no one could move. And everyone refused to. Horns were honked, flat-palmed hand gestures were made, things were shouted, the police were even called. It was a mess.

Alan should get an award for best driver ever. Getting to a from that beach required some of the most insane maneuvers I've ever seen a mid-sized sedan do, not to mention one with a jalopy manual transmission.We inched up the hill, with just centimeters to spare on either side thanks to the parked cars. It was crazy, but we made it.

In the village, we met all kinds of family members, including the 95-year-old grandmother who is hard of hearing, but still sharp. Living to 95 in rural Turkey is like living to 150 anywhere else. She's got amazing DNA. We also met several relatives who live in Germany. My German was slow to develop, as much of my language space has been taken up with Turkish now, but between the two languages, it was possible to be understood fairly well.

My friend's father led us on a hike (more aptly described as a fast-paced and difficult trek up a thickly forested hill) to the top of a foothill overlooking where a river meets the Black Sea. It was indeed a great view, though I could hardly see for all the sweat in my eyes.

Following the sweaty hike, we went to the bridge overlooking the same river we had seen flowing into the ocean. A major flood 20 years ago had wiped out the old bridge, most of which had come to rest just in front of the new bridge, blocking trees and other large debris from passing. It looked pretty bad, actually.

After some drawn out Turkish goodbyes to family members, we set off for our dinner date in a small town about an hour away in Amasra.

What a treat that dinner was! We ate these tiny and delicious fried fish and drank the Turkish liquor called Rakı. It was one of the best meals I've had in Turkey. I learned how to pull out the small bones efficiently, and before long I had a huge pile of bones on my plate and my hands were covered in grease, but I loved it!

By the time we finished our yogurt and honey desert, I was really exhausted. We arrived back to her family's home around 1:00 AM and I think we all passed out immediately.

The next morning/afternoon we ate one final Turkish breakfast before loading up the car to come back to Kayseri. We said our goodbyes, and promised to visit each other in our various corners of the world. I hate those goodbyes because you really never know when you'll see that person again. It was hard to leave such a beautiful place to come back to our very polluted city life. It took us about 9 hours to return, thanks once again to the mystery that is Ankara's highway system.

Back at home, Alan and I cracked a few cans of Efes, loaded up the washing machine with our super dirty clothes, and let the weekend soak in. The trip north was a great ending to our time in Turkey. We've got about 10 days left, and I think we will spend most of that time organizing and packing for our next journey.

Big news!

I guess I'm going to have to change my blog title from "No Coffee, No Workee: Türkiye" to something about Coffee, Work, and Thailand.

It's official. Alan and I accepted job offers at Mae Fah Luang University in Chiang Rai, Thailand. I just finished booking the last leg of our flights. It's a long way from Omaha to Chiang Rai.

Famous White Temple in Chiang Rai

I'm sitting here in our Turkish apartment, alternating gazes between our 11th story view of Mount Erciyes topped in clouds, government-run high rises in the foreground; and my computer screen, window to the infinite possibilities of the internet. My feet are touching our Turkish kilim rug with its bold colors and geometric print. I'm sipping black tea from a mug provided by my current university in Turkey. I'm living one iteration of the ex-pat dream while day-dreaming about another incarnation of the dream thousands of miles away.

It was a strange week. We had interviews and multiple offer letters to consider, we drank too much coffee during our down time at work. We drank too much whiskey and wine at our friends' house, so we spent the night on couches, snuggling their new puppy who was named after a co-worker who has already returned to the US. We spent an entire day with a white board, comparing and contrasting our job offers in Thailand. We recruited our American friends who lived in Thailand to help us sort things out. We committed to the offer we've been wanting since early April.

We met my former roommate in Cappadocia yesterday. She was playing tour guide for a professor and student from Flagstaff. Between me, Alan, my roommate, and the current student, we had 4 generations of students from the same graduate program. Oddly enough, though I was the youngest in the group, I was the first to receive the degree. Anyway, quite a legacy coming from Northern Arizona! We went coffee and lunching in Göreme, and wine tasting in Ürgüp These towns practically feel like our backyards after a year in Kayseri. We gossiped about mutual acquaintances over "proper" glasses of wine while Turkish "lorries" rumbled up the hill next to our bar (excuse my British English--after a year of teaching from a British-made book, it's starting to feel natural--lorry = semi-truck).

The countdown until the end of Turkey is getting shorter. 18 days?

The countdown to Thailand is short, too, (32 days?) but seems like a million years away. It has hardly sunk in that we will be living in rural-ish Thailand soon. We will be eating rice and curries and noodles, and fresh fruit and pork. We will be drinking cheap beer and Johnny Walker in sweltering heat. The mosques we have grown used to will be replaced with temples. Our roman alphabet will be replaced by the curly Thai script. Our "teşekkürler" will be replaced with "kha-pun-kha." We will start over learning a new language and culture from scratch.

I'm cautiously excited for the move. I've lived in Southeast Asia before, and I know that the heat and the tummy bugs are hard on me; but I know that the people and the food suit me well, and I'm really looking forward to the next chapter. I hope it's a long one filled with twists, turns and at least one kitten. Until next time, dear reader...

Iftar Dinner Kayseri Style

Earlier this month, my boss selected Alan and me to teach two groups of female high school students. We earned a little extra cash, and I had an awesome time with 12 of the brightest, sweetest young ladies I've ever met. They destroyed (in a good way) the games and activities that I planned, and we even had deep discussions about current events and their dreams for the future. Easiest teaching ever.

On the last day, we had a pizza party where they got certificates and they gave me and Alan gifts. It was incredibly sweet, and the goodbyes were painful. One of the students even invited me to her home to break the fast during Ramadan, the Islamic Holy month.

Yesterday, Alan and I went to her home in downtown Kayseri. She and her mother sweetly greeted us, and we chatted in their beautiful dining room while he mother finished cooking. The conversation was in English, and included some translations for the mother who was really curious and interested in the guests. My student's 27-year-old quantum-mathematics-studying-motorcycle-riding-all-around-awesome sister woke up from her resting and joined us just before the call to prayer (or in this case, call to eating). 

Her mother had prepared a meal fit for royalty. We started with a rich and creamy soup made mostly with butter and yogurt. It was incredible. For the next course, I had requested mantı, the Kayserian version of dumplings, which were prepared to perfection, and topped with homemade tomato sauce and homemade yogurt. Delicious. Then, we had sarma (grape leaf-wrapped rice) and börek (pasteries), and bread, and salad. Just when I thought I'd explode, the next course came out: delicious baked chicken and potatoes, smothered in a tomato and pepper sauce.

It was a lot of food. We were gracious guests, and complimenting all of the foods, in Turkish, as best we could.

We moved to the couches for a post-meal Turkish coffee and delicious deserts (including the brownies I made with the mix my mom sent from the US), and we talked about everything. I was particularly interested in the mom's recent trip to Mecca and Medina on Hajj. We heard about the food, the traditional aspects of the pilgrimage, and even her opinions about Arabic coffee. My student's sister had a lot to say about her country and her plans for a PhD either in Holland or Canada. Alan and I tried to give her our best advice, even though we don't know much about either country. It was refreshing to experience a real Ramazan iftar in the company of women. I had only experienced a non-traditional iftar with my male Saudi friends back in Arizona. Normally, men and women wouldn't eat together.

The older sister stepped out for a few minutes to go to the mosque. Normally uncovered, she came back in a long black coat and headscarf. I'm still not fully aware of all the Islamic customs, so she explained to me that even if you don't usually wear a scarf over your hair, when you go to pray, you need to wear a scarf. I also learned that women pray on the second floor of the mosque (men on the first).

Later came the tea service and fruit plates. My stomach was incredibly full, but I never turn down a Turkish tea (or three). 

The night ended with promises to travel together, to have more meals together, and maybe even explore another country together. It was a great night of human connection. It's another memory of Turkey that I will cherish. 

We have about 6 weeks left in Turkey. Sometimes that seems too few, and sometimes it still feels like a long time to survive. I hope to squeeze all I can out of the next few weeks before coming back to the US for a brief visit.

Happy Ramadan!

No pictures, but an experience to document

As a member of a generation who is obsessed with documenting everything on Facebook and Instagram and Snapchat and Twitter and whatever else, I feel that in some ways, I failed yesterday. I didn't manage to take any pictures of anything.

A former student of Alan's (and a volleyball player of mine!) invited us to his family's home in Keskin, Turkey. Keskin is between Kayseri and Ankara, nestled in a picturesque landscape of rolling hills of green crops. The hills are dotted with farm houses and groves of fruit and nut trees.

I watched the RPMs drop as I put in the clutch in on the bigger hills. Saving gas, I thought. We cruised past sign after sign advertising local nuts, almonds, and raisins. We met our student on the main road in town. He had headphones in as we pulled up. A strangely modern element of this sleepy village.

"You're probably the first Americans here," he said, as we pulled up to a stop light next to a tractor. We accompanied him into a small shop selling meat and Coke products. We came out with a couple kilos of ground beef and a 2 liters each of Coke and Fanta.

Alan drove as we left the village on a dirt road behind a tractor pulling a huge trailer on grain. As a Nebraskan, I feel I can claim some farm heritage, but really I grew up in a medium sized city and haven't spent hardly any time on any farms anywhere, so I guess maybe I shouldn't claim too much.

We pulled into the driveway of his farm, and we were greeted immediately by his Kurdish-speaking grandmother, followed by mom, younger brother, and teenage sister. Our limited Turkish was enough for this interaction, and to get my purse inside the house. It turns out that my purse (containing my picture-taking iPad, tissues, and eyedrops) would be the only thing of mine that ever went in the house, but that's kind of another story--one that goes like this: most Turks are embarrassed to invite you inside their houses for whatever reason, so you'll probably eat in the garden or at a restaurant.

So anyway, there went my purse, and we and our student went on a long walk around the farm. We saw chickens, chicks, roosters, dogs, and ducks. We walked next to growing vegetables, sunflowers, grains, and many beautiful wildflowers. It was a long hike and the three of us were all suffering from allergies by the end.

When we came back to the farm, the women of the house, plus several female relatives who had arrived while we were gone, were cooking food on a homemade grill (more later). I was invited to sit with the men. Before I even sat down, I asked if I could use the restroom--you know I love to write about this...

His sister apologised that they didn't have a WC inside the house as she led me down a corridor between two barracks used for housing the family's cows and bulls. I prepared mentally for a new bathroom experience, and I wasn't disappointed. Cambodia has nothing on this one...

It was a concrete floor with a hole. There was a stiff-bristled brush and broom (in case your aim isn't so hot) and a large container of water with a small bucket (for self-cleaning). Although I've nearly mastered the squat-pot from a year of squatting in teacher clothes, the small opening in the floor did me no favors. My black (thankfully) tennis shoes got a little more than they bargained for out of the deal.

Anyway, I came back out and his sister showed me into one of the livestock barracks. The air inside was very hard to breathe. It was like State-Fair-Air concentrate in there. I admired the cows as best I could while holding my breath, and then escaped back out to the garden area.

I decided to follow Turkish tradition by joining the females, rather than sitting with the males, even though my only English speakers were at the male table. I sat on the porch swing with Grandma and we had a conversation about her grandkids, her hometown, and the prospect of having tea later. I also got in on a short conversation about the barbeque. It was a new technique: a slab of limestone laid across a fire pit. All the meat, potatoes and peppers were arranged on the limestone, cooking beautifully. I tried to explain that yes, I do cook, and yes, I have eaten barbequed food; but never in this way. Boy, that stretched my Turkish. I sampled a potato before heading to the boys' table.

In true Turkish style, the meal was enormous. The table was covered in plates of salad, Köfte (Turkish meatballs), chicken, Sarma (rice rolled in grape leaves), bread, homemade pastries and cakes, and a cold yogurt soup. The men and I ate while the women watched us. I have to say, there was enough food for everyone who was there to have at least three helpings, but not everyone ate. I didn't see the women eat anything, in fact. Anyway, after I couldn't eat anymore, I had another glass of Coke, and then we moved into the gazebo for tea.

This gazebo was incredible. It was shaded and had a nice breeze. There were benches covered in Turkish cushons. There was a Turkish flag gently swaying above us, and we (student and his friend, me, Alan and student's father) sat together making conversation about school and music. His sister brought us fresh tea--which I've really come to love after a year of constant tea.

One of the puppies (which I had previously been advised against petting because it's not friendly) came up to the entrance of the gazebo. I couldn't resist, so I got up and introduced myself to it. Within seconds we were best buddies and it was rolling around enjoying a belly rub. I later wondered if I shouldn't have petted the puppy because I'm not totally sure how dogs are used on the farm and whether me petting it would ruin its ability to be a vicious guard dog, but in any case, I got my puppy therapy for the month.

A quick handwash from the well pump and we were off on a strawberry mission. We picked fresh berries together, and I can say they are were some of the best I've ever had.

Back at the farm, the student's mom gave me a tour of her tractor tire flower beds, and I tried some of the lemony salad greens. Delicious!

Although I could have stayed relaxing in that garden for hours, Alan and I decided that it was probably time that we left. The student's mother presented me with a gift of two scarves, from the 1980's she told me, and invited us back whenever we wanted. It was so sweet. If I had spoken better Turkish, I would have told her how much it means to a foreigner to be invited to someone's home (or at least near to it) for a meal. I would have also said how much we appreciated their generosity and the hard work that went into the meal. I did my best with limited phrases, and I hoped that the baklava that Alan and I had brought from Kayseri would somehow express what I couldn't.

As we backed out of the driveway, it felt like we were leaving our own family somehow. They were waving and wishing us well as we turned onto the dirt road behind our student. He drove the family tractor into town to help us find the highway. It was so strangely familiar, and yet, passing under the election banners and passing by Turkish men astounded by our golden hair and foreigner license plates, I felt so far from home.

This kind of experience is why I live abroad. Making connections with people. The world gets a little smaller and more friendly when you spend time with people who have a different background from yours. I'm so grateful to our student for sharing his life with us, and while I wish I had some pictures, I'm happy that I got to see everything with my own eyes and not from the screen of my iPad. Besides, a blog-entry is the highest form of flattery in my travels.

4th quarter disaster and moving on

It's been a month since my last post. I finally finished the fourth and final teaching quarter at Meliksah. The last quarter was by far the most difficult--in fact, there really is no comparison to any teaching challenge I've ever faced in the past.

I was assigned to teach the dreaded "repeater" sections of students who didn't pass the 3rd quarter. Some of them didn't pass because of proficiency, but most didn't pass because of attendance or motivation issues. While the lowest 2 repeater sections gave up almost immediately and started watching subtitled films instead of working in the course books, my sections were supposed to trudge on through the material that students had already seen the previous quarter. You can imagine that my students and I were not so thrilled to review the exact same material again.

Things were bad. I felt like I had stepped into an alternate universe in which disrespecting and ignoring the teacher were normal behaviors, and a good day was one during which I only imagined strangling one student. Students would deliberately put headphones in when I was talking, flat out refuse to do activities, and in some cases, refuse to speak English to me. Students painted their nails, applied make up, played cell phone games, took selfies, sang along to the songs on their headphones, and even set up what looked to me to be a craps table using their books. Perhaps most annoying of all, many of my questions were not answered with words, but with this delightful gesture/noise. It's a very casual way to say "no" in Turkish, but it's really not appropriate for a teacher-student interaction, and definitely not appropriate to an open-ended question.
I cried in the classroom for the first time in my life.

These groups of students took me to a very dark place. For the first time in my life, I genuinely did not want to teach. I felt like my job was pointless. Honestly, I think my students were in a similar mode of apathy and ennui. The classroom atmosphere was heavy and dull--completely the opposite of how it usually feels.

Now that it's over, I can look back and see a few bright spots, but I was so relieved to finish my final hour on Friday. I'm usually sad on the last day of class, but not this time. It was a bad feeling for me. I want to like my students and help them and miss them when they're gone.

My colleagues and I had a great party last night to celebrate the end of the repeater classes, and I'm feeling much less toxic now. I'm ready to move on.

I'm looking forward to non-teaching time this summer to investigate my research interests in educational psychology and identity. I hope that I will feel refreshed and motivated now that I've survived such a difficult experience.

Weekend Adventure in Cappadocia

It's Tuesday morning and I've just finished a double Turkish coffee. My colleagues gave me a hard time because Turks usually drink coffee in the afternoon, following a big meal. The luxury of time for such a treat is only available to me in the morning, before my teaching day begins. I'll take my buzz now, thanks.

Anyway, I want to write a little about my weekend. The best I've had in a long time. Maybe ever--in some ways.

Alan and I ditched complicated plans to visit a waterfall with friends in favor of a self-directed hike in Cappadocia. We went to the other side of a valley we had previously visited, and wow. It was spectacular. Cappadocia's whimsical forms look good in every season--but on the first day of warm sunshine after a month of drab gray winter-ish weather--I mean, güzel (beautiful). The wildflowers were blowing, the bees were buzzing, and Alan and I were happily strolling a dusty trail together. We nibbled on sandwiches and skipped over small creeks. We explored ancient caves and marveled at the sheer cliff faces rising from the landscape.

And then...we found the staircase.

Alan found it. I was pretty satisfied NOT going in, but Alan pulled out his flashlight, and got on hands and knees to enter the three by three hole leading into complete darkness. He illuminated a staircase leading upward into an abyss of blackness with a cool breeze rushing out. "Come on," he said.

The staircase (the opening was just tall enough to crawl through)

"No thanks, I'm good."

"No, just come in and look up. That's all."

I did, and then somehow he convinced me to keep climbing in the darkness, no doubt passing spiders and crawlies and ancient omens. My hands were covered in the ancient dust as I searched for the handholds on the walls, hunched over, but climbing.

A precarious turn in the stairway held us up a little, but through the dusty cavern we could see the sunlight from a window above. Alan urged me on, and somehow we made it to a look out, about six stories up.

Alan got really nervous about climbing back down the stairway. He was really worried that I would fall because of the worn away steep steps. "If either of us fall," he warned, "we are in big trouble."

Somethings I wish he'd consider before we are at the top of a dangerous stone tunnel staircase.

Anyway, Alan worked his way back into the staircase, wedging himself precariously as to create a block in case I slipped. I cautiously scooted my butt inch by inch down the ridiculous stairs. Once I got close, Alan descended a few more stairs and blockaded again. The descent was admittedly WAY worse than the climb, as the steps were narrow and angled downward, not to mention covered in an inch of powered rock. A perfect recipe for slipping down a 30 foot shaft of rock.

Somehow, we made it to the bottom safely. I think my positive out loud self talk really helped. "Jena, you're doing great. One at a time. One at a time."

I emerged, dusty and a little shaky from adrenaline, but accomplished.

We hiked for several more hours before deciding to reward ourselves with a cold beer on the roof of our favorite cafe. The waiter has seen us every two weeks for the past few months, so he greeted us warmly and proceeded to dust me off. It was pretty funny. He asked whether we would be ordering our usual hot, spiced wine. This guys knows us too well. "Two beers, please."

We even got to see our buddy "Long Dog" (Corgi and German Shepard hybrid) and meet two new friends, "Mop Dog" and "Big Dog" (like the Beast from Beauty and the Beast) on the streets of Goreme.

It was a great day.

Self-Cheerleading. Driving, Turkish, Volleyball...

Today I've got a lot to be proud of, and a lot to be grateful for.

This morning, I wrote messages to not one, but two Turkish friends in Turkish. My proficiency and confidence has really changed in the past three months. I'm proud of my progress.

Last night, I drove our manual transmission, crazy-time post-factory-rigged Hyundai by myself for the first time. No stalls, no accidents, no peel-outs. I even had to deal with construction, and as always, Turkish drivers. You bet those line lanes didn't constrict my movements.

I even drove a student part of the way to her house after our VOLLEYBALL match. I finally got more than 4 people to come to volleyball at the girls dorm. Interestingly, the co-ed archery team was also practicing in there at the same time. Sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen, right? I also think this particular combination of danger and trying to do my normal thing is particularly indicative of my time in Turkey. Be careful where you run, there might be someone learning how to use a bow and arrow! Be careful where you drive, "one-way street" is only a suggestion! Et cetera.

I've been feeling pretty down lately based on the never-ending winter temperatures and grey skies and also a new teaching assignment that has me teaching the same five chapters (for the third time this year) to students who failed this material in the previous quarter. I'm trying to approach it with grace, but it's not always easy. I survived the first week. I'm also proud of that.

Alan and I have decided not to renew our contracts for next year, so we are on the job market again. We are looking to Thailand for our next phase. A little more tropical and more pad thai (delicious noodles). If all goes as planned, you can expect lots of posts from Southeast Asia in 2016.

I am grateful for what I have here in Turkey. A well-paid job, wonderful friends and colleagues, a car, Cappadocia. Our first year of marriage. Good health (knock on wood). Good wine.

On that note, I'll start my Saturday. All my best to you and yours.