I've been quite the social butterfly this week. On Halloween I went to a party advertised on the Antalyaexpats.com website. I wrote to Aysun, who published the invitation, and asked her for directions, and she offered to pick me up. Aysun is 40 something, Turkish, and married to a German. Her first marriage was to a Turk, and her response to my admission that I'd never been married was an unusual one for Turkey: "That's a sign of intelligence" she said.
I'd had to walk down the nine flights to exit my apartment, so I figured there was a problem with the elevator. Once in the car, however, I noticed that the entire neighborhood was in the midst of a blackout. Blackouts are fairly frequent here, but most often occur during periods of high electrical use, i.e. summer or winter. This was a beautiful early fall evening, and I couldn't imagine either heat or air-conditioning being used. So what was up? Shrug. No big deal. The absence of traffic lights didn't seem to bother anyone or cause excess traffic. In New York, one broken street light means endless delays and honking horns while an officer directs traffic. Here, people simply pay more attention than usual.
The party was out in the woods near the mountains. We had to ask directions several times on secluded dirt roads and when we passed a graveyard the Halloween mood was sufficiently established. Eventually we were able to follow the sound of the music (classic rock blasting from loudspeakers on the rooftop) to Patrick's house. Patrick is a middle-aged Irishman who's been living and working here for many years and does something to do with research and writing (it was hard to hear over the music). Most of the other guests were Turks. Some were married to foreigners, some were friends of Patrick, and others just wanted to practice their English. (Although most of the ex-pats here are Russian or German, English is the lingua franca.) There was a huge bonfire in front of the house, a barbeque grilling meat, and a table with food and raki. Much drinking and dancing ensued. I'd been warned that the anisette-flavored spirit called raki was strong, but I put so much water in mine I didn't think it would hurt me. On the other hand, the guy next to me kept refilling my glass. Eventually I was so groggy I had to leave the party outside and lie down on a couch in Patrick's house. When the party broke up Aysun took me home and I konked out.
The next day I had a bit of a hangover, so I spent most of the day on my balcony preparing for teaching my class of 6 Russian kids. This involved drawing pictures of animals, creating Bingo boards and other challenging tasks. Then I took a short nap on the beach.
After running some errands downtown, I went home and got a call from Patrick who asked if I'd like to join him and his friend for a drink. I then attempted to direct him to my building, which turned out to be much more of a challenge than I'd expected for two English speakers. Directions here are difficult. Street numbers are random and meaningless, so you can only give directions by landmarks. My apartment complex is located in an area conspicuously lacking in landmarks. It's only a few years old, and not even on most maps. Anyway, Patrick eventually arrived and we went to a casual place near the beach where we drank the local beer and ate a dish that was new for me, shrimp "guvec". Guvec is the clay bowl the food is cooked and served in, so seeing guvec on the menu doesn't really tell you much about what you're going to eat, but I hadn't had shrimps in a while so I figured I'd try it. It was a very tasty concoction with cheese melted on top (I'm a firm believer that melted cheese improves almost everything). It was a bit spicy for me, but there was plenty of bread to soften the sting.
On Wednesday I went to the beach. It's about a 15 minute walk from my place. When it's hot, that seems like an eternity, but now that the weather is comfortable it's a pleasant walk. The weather at this time of year is interesting; around 80 during the day (hot in the sun, comfortable in the shade) but mid 50s at night. My bedroom is especially chilly because it doesn't get sun. So I wake up not wanting to get out from under the warm covers, but once I do get up and go out on the sunny balcony it's summertime again. The beach was perfect and I had a great swim.
I came home for an early dinner before heading to teach my English class. My English class is composed of six eight-year old Russian kids. It takes place in a complex that includes a supermarket, bowling alley and rooftop bar. This class came about through my yoga teacher Irina, a Russian woman married to a Turk. She was an English teacher in Russia, and knew several Russian women here who wanted their kids to learn English from a native speaker. Irina thought we could market a course in which we alternate classes. She'd explain the grammar in Russian, and then I'd take the next class and give them the "native speaker" experience. We started last week and I was a bit overwhelmed by the challenge of holding the kids' attention. I can honestly say teaching kids is harder (for me) than arguing in Federal Court or singing for thousands of people.
My students.
This week's lesson went a lot better, although I still have occasional discipline problems. Like getting then to stop throwing pencils at each other. My solution: I took away the pencils.
After class I went downtown to join Carol and her husband Bill in Kaleici (the old city). They'd invited me to join them at the weekly gathering of American and British English teachers at a meyhane called Ayyas. Meyhane's are to Turkey what pubs are to the U.K; casual watering holes with local food. Most offer "mezes", usually translated as "appetizers" but actually more like tapas, a full meal of various dishes. The buffet at Ayyas included everything from vegetables and cheese to lamb's brains. I can't tell you how they tasted because I'd eaten dinner before I got there. Next week I'll try the food.
Although I'd expected the ex-pats teaching English here to be kids just out of college (my friends who taught English abroad had done it at that age), most of these folks were middle aged and up. Someone was celebrating a birthday, and the establishment provided everyone at the table with a little bottle of white wine. I usually drink beer at these sorts of places, but I gave it a try and it was okay. The party broke up early because most of the teachers start work at 8:00 AM. Clearly a full time job in this field is not in my future. Carol distributed invitations to a book
Ayyas.
Thursday morning is my belly dance (called oryantal) class, also taught by Irina. I guess the fact that I've been out drinking 3 of the last 4 nights took its toll and I almost overslept the class. When I got home I got a call from an Austrian woman named Barbara who said Emel had given her my number. Barbara was putting together a Viennese Ball and wanted to know if I was interested in singing some operetta or Schubert songs, which of course I was. She asked if I was "in shape". Hmm. Well, I wouldn't want to do a Vienna Staatsoper audition right now, but I think I can handle Antalya's Viennese ball. So I said yes, I'm in shape. Now that someone's asked me to sing, I really feel like I live here!
Friday I went to the weekly Pazaar and got some amazing tomatoes and a couple of shirts. I stopped by Nur bakery on the way home and picked up a su boregi (I don't know what their made of, but they taste like savory noodle pudding. This one had ground meat in it.) and a borek (kind of a breakfast roll) filled with black olives. At home I changed into my bathing suit and headed for the beach. It was a perfect day and the water was refreshing. Walking back a woman asked me how the water was and said she's been afraid to go to the beach because she thought it'd be too cold. Don't be afraid, I told her, it's not too cold. I love the way people here ask strangers for advice. We do it to ask directions at home, but here it can be any subject. I remember when I first moved into my apartment, I was doing some grocery shopping when a woman asked me something about the cheese. I didn't know the answer, and she picked up on my confusion. "Oh, you're a foreigner" she said. "Yes, I am" I said. And then she kissed my shoulder! I guess that was a way of saying welcome. But now I can answer the questions (most of the time), and this gives me a sense of accomplishment.
When I got home from the beach I had a quick dinner at home before heading out to the Symphony concert. The Cultural Center is not far from my home, but I had to wait a long time for one of the few buses that goes there, so I didn't arrive early as planned. Then I had to buy a ticket. This involved waiting on a long line including people buying tickets for other shows. Why don't they have a separate window for the performance that starts in five minutes? I managed to get a ticket ( for about 7 dollars) and get into the theater before the first solo entrance in the Beethoven violin concerto. The orchestra was smaller than what I'm used to for Beethoven, but their playing was excellent. The soloist, Alexander Markov,was first rate. With his tall, thin frame and long hair he made me think of Paganini. As it turns out, he's a Paganini expert and the only violinist to have recorded all the caprices. He played the famous one as an encore and it was spectacular.
At intermission I found Emel, and she introduced me to a mezzo who sings in the opera here. She told me I could get a job here because they needed second altos, so I assume she sings in the chorus. (People always assume I'm a choral singer; I guess I don't have the diva look.) I also met Emel's friend Fritz, a German pianist. Fritz was interested in hearing me sing and said he'd call to arrange for a time for us to get together. The second half of the program was Beethoven's 5th, followed by a repeat of the first movement as an encore.
I caught a bus home and congratulated myself on a successful week.