Blue Skies and Bluer Waters

In the truest of Turkish style, we followed our first week of class with a nine day holiday.  And when in a country with a Mediterranean coast is there a viable option other then heading to these fabled waters?  As I could think of no other possibilities a fabulous Canadian by the name of Kendra and I hopped onto a bus and headed to Fethiye, a beach community supposedly 12 hours from Istanbul.  However, because this is Turkey and efficiency and punctuality are not points of national strength, our bus left over an hour after it was scheduled and made many stops through out the night.  Needless to say after more than 14 hours when we finally emerged into the sunlight and warmth of the coastal town we were quite ready to hit the beach.  

As we made our way down to the beach we were greeted not by the carmel skinned Mediterranean people that one would hope to find in such a place, but rather by bus loads of pasty, middled aged, over weight Brits.  Because they too were on holiday and had left all cares behind them in whatever grey and depressing place from which they hailed, men scampered in speedos that had not looked good on them in decades and women worshipped the sun topless with an utter disregard for gravity or reality.  It is beyond me as to why people would travel to the opposite end of a conitnet to sorround themselves with the people and the food (fish and chips donned every menu in every restaurant) that they had left behind.  

After the initial disappointment waned, the anglification of the holiday posed more of a challenge than a threat.  It simply meant that we had to work to maintain status as travelers and not tip the balance too far into the realm of tourist.  And I can say with some confidence that we did succeed as travelers, other than the 12 island boat tour that I insisted that we go on. Although it had all of the components of perfection, a day on the water in the sunshine, it really epitomized the darker side of leisure, lethargy, and consumption.  However, I can overlook all of that because by spending a day on that boat I can say that I saw water that so exemplifies what it means to be blue that I lack the vocabulary to convey its essence.  I sat staring at that water going over ever shade and hue and tint of blue that I have ever seen and nothing I could come up with could do it any justice.

The following day Kendra and I opted for a more physical adventure.  The guidebooks described a trail from Kaya Koy, a village left abandoned after the 1923 population exchange between the Greek and Turkish governments, to Oludeniz, the beach featured in nearly every picture of Mediterranean Turkey.  We caught a shuttle to the village and spent some time wandering through the crumbling structures that are haunted by an eerie absents of being.  Initially the red paint splotch markers were just as they were described in the books.  However,  these markers that were supposed to lead the way on the two hour trail to the beach quickly disappeared as we made the ascent out of the village.  As we were determined to see this beach that looked so wonderful in the pictures, we continued without a trail or a compass.  We quite literally mountain climbed.  And after 5 hours without seeing another living soul, we reached a clearing from which it was possible to see the ever publicized Blue Lagoon.  The gratification felt after plunging into the water was utterly complete. 

The following day we left Fethiye for the Butterfly Valley.  Although there was the option to rent tents from the hippie commune that lives on the beach, we chose to stay in this magnificent hostel that clings to the cliffs above.  And with George House as our base, we did some epic rock climbing down to valley floor where we scaled a waterfall and spent the afternoon sated by the sunshine.  I have never felt more deliciously satisfied with my youth or my disbelief in my own mortality than I did while climbing down into that valley.  And I have never felt more capable of falling off of the edge of society than I did while sitting on that fairly secluded beach.  Living there, in that beautiful valley were people that had done just that. And I can't help but think that being perpetually surrounding by the most perfect examples of natural beauty somehow become etched on your soul and you to become more beautiful at the most essential level.  

Wanderings in the City

Hello all, sorry for the brief delay in updates but here it goes.  

Today is the first day of class at Bogazici University where I am enrolled for the semester.  This is completely obvious in the neighborhood surrounding campus as little restaurants and cafes that have sat nearly empty for the two weeks that I have been here are filled with young people catching up and swapping stories of their summer holidays.  I feel rather ridiculous in admitting my  defeat in finding my yoga class this afternoon, but it was not due to a lack of effort.  Wish me luck as i attempt to redeem myself by finding my art history lecture tonight.  

Beyond registering for class, this past week as been lax.  With some days being spent exploring the farther reaches of the city and others wandering the streets of my neighborhood, which i have found stretches down along the Bosporus.  There is an overlook on the walk to campus that has yet to fail in inspiring me with awe at the fact that I am in fact here--that for the next several months this city is my home.  At night the hills that surround this rather spectacular view are alive with the lights of a city that holds late hours, and when it rains it seems that a beautifully melancholy mist hugs the hills and slowly falls into the steely waters of the straight below.  Yet these same waters change to the deepest shades of turquoise and cerulean blue the moment the sun parts the clouds.  And I get to live here.

Early last week several other international students and I decided to embrace the role of tourist and went to the old city to visit the Blue Mosque.  When we arrived it was nearing time for the late afternoon prayer and only the faithful were allowed inside.  But there is something to be said for merely being on the grounds of this monument of Ottoman architecture that has been in continuous use as a house of god since its opening in the early 17th century.  When the PA system begins the call to prayer it is so loud and so powerful that it is felt as much as it is heard.  When prayer was over tourists were allowed to enter after removing our shoes and being deemed modest in dress.  I have been lucky in that I have seen some of the great monumnets to the christian faith that leave their lasting marks on western europe.  But to be in the Blue Mosque is an experience entirely remarkable unto itself.  The Catherdrals of Spain were a testament to the wealth and power of that colonial empire with seemingly everything dripping in gold and gems from the new world.  To write it off as garish may be inaccurate but in comparison there is really not a better descriptive.  

Once inside I immediately felt insignificant in nearly the same way that the ocean in its magnitude makes one feel insignificant.  The overarching domes and immense pillars create a cavernous space that is somehow enlarged by the low lighting.  And as there are no pews the long lines from floor to ceiling and left to right and front to back only seem longer without the obstruction.  

In the area of Sultanahmet that surrounds the mosque after the sun sets and prayer is said and the fast is broken their is a nearly carnival like atmosphere with food vendors everywhere selling the most wonderful smelling food.  And this happens every night night during Ramadan. Other then the sleazy teenaged boys that are taken aback by every foreign girl that they see there is a wonderfully familial air with grandparents, parents and children coming together in celebration in the most universal of ways--eating!

Peace & Love 

Out on the town

With the help of a few fellow Oles here on Term in the Middle East, I spent all day yesterday gallivanting about town.  We started in the Old City where we wound our way through the maze of the Grand Bazaar. It was like nothing I have ever seen in that it was so fabulously kitsch that it is indescribable.  Imagine if you will the offspring of the Mall of America, a flee market, the State Fair, and a tacky yard sale.  Around each bend is a district to be discovered.  There is an antique book district, a leather district, an antique district, a purse district, a gold district, a silver district, and the list could go on and on.  Eventually we made it out of the Bazaar and into a little street cafe where several blonde haired totally "inconspicuous"  St Olaf people invited us to the Istanbul Modern Art Museum.  

So back across the Bosporus and onto a very packed tram where the cultural preference for not wearing deodorant was more than slightly obvious.  The Museum was in a very cool converted warehouse on the water.  And it was free.  So all and all it made for pretty cool experience.  

We made our way up to Taksim square where it seems all of the Turks under 30 descend as the sun sets.  In a very busy restaurant we had dinner and wonderfully sticky sweet baklava with petite cups of Turkish tea.   After dinner we found ourselves swept up in the sea of chic 20 something Mediterranean people walking up and down Taksim and ended our day with drinks on a rooftop bar that had the perfect ambience of dim lighting, wreaths of cigarette smoke that would have been tacky state side but here seem somehow cool and fashion forward, and a breathtaking view of this city that stretches forever in every direction.  

 

Peace & Love

And so it all begins...

They say that beginnings are scary, endings are sad, and the middle is where the great memories are made.  So far, the adage has proved correct.  After three flights and a ridiculously long layover in Frankfurt, I arrived in Istanbul.  A student from the university was kind enough to meet me at the airport. And in a true tribute to my American nature, I was expecting to be picked up in one of the school vehicles or something of that nature.  But to my great, jet-lagged surprise, the three flights that I had just taken proved only to be half of my journey.  The other half was made up of a brief stint on a subway, two very crowed bus rides, and a bit of a hike, all keep in mind while hauling all of my luggage.  And its needless to say that I did not pack light.  I arrive to my dorm, which is really more of an apartment complex, hoping that at least one of my three room mates will be there to help ease the slight panic that has begun to set in.  After my seemingly epic battle with the lock, I opened the door to a very large, very empty apartment.  My room itself is small and covered with cupboards that would be more fitting of a kitchen then a bedroom.  However there is a bed in which I found my jet-lagged refuge, falling asleep much too early.  

And here I am now, awake long before the sun, or the morning call to prayer.  I lie.  The praying has just begun it seems.  The echoing chants only add to the foreign aspect of this experience.  In all honesty, I do feel much calmer now then I did upon arrival.  I know that the complaining that more than accents this post is childish, and for that I apologize.  I am sure that as the anxiety wears off and the excitement takes hold this will really be an amazing, life changing experience.  But for now I'm way out of my element.  

Peace & Love