I have a driver...

OK, not in the sense that I have retained a chauffeur to drive me around the city, but kinda. I have a 'friend' who drives a taxi and lets me pay him to drive me around, and he is pretty much on call.

I met Hamdi sometime in the middle of the semester, so around March. I was running stupid-late for school, and jumping into a cab was really the only way I could avoid a lecture, explaining to me that I was late (which would clearly be redundant as I was already aware of my tardiness). I've lived in Turkey long enough to know that avoiding such lectures is worth as much as fifty lira, because the process is essentially a long dialog where my mistake is explained to me, I accept my mistake, and then the mistake is re-explained in similar words, after which I take responsibility, and there is a final round of examining why my mistake is important enough to be noted.

Taxi ride from my home to school: 8.26 Lira

Hamdi is really outgoing, and overly friendly in a way that Turkish people can sometimes be, in cases where the extent of the relationship is a financial transaction. For instance, the simitçi from whom I purchased a morning pastry, twice, seven months ago, felt completely comfortable engaging me in a conversation about the state of my knee when he saw it in a brace.

Weird.

In any event, Hamdi continued to follow-up with me after our first trip together, greeting us on our way to school, or giving us hell for not riding with him. I maybe got a ride from him twice more. Three weeks ago when I tore my ACL, I knew I would need safer transport than the jostling around that the bus could provide. Calling Hamdi seemed logical, and for the past several weeks, he's been ferrying me to and from school.

Needless to say, we are now becoming 'close' in his mind.

I suppose this is what I really want to write about. Turkey constantly presents challenges to my personal space. I've lost count of how many times I, the only person on a wide sidewalk, have been bumped into by the only other person on the sidewalk, who would have cleared me by fifteen feet if they hadn't drifted my way. On a visit to San Fransisco, in the fall of 2007, I reveled in the freedom of movement and walked a deserted (by my Istanbul standards) rush-hour block, with both my hands completely outstretched to their full wing-span.

I didn't touch a soul.

For our purposes now, I am not speaking of personal space in the how-close-you-stand-when-speaking-to-me sense. There are additional challenges to my sense of friendship and loyalty. Hamdi is a nice example of one such challenge. We talk in the cab, and he is entertaining. I do not dislike him. He consistently picks me up, gets me where I need to be, and we have not been in anything resembling an accident (which I consider a perk). I offer what I feel is customer loyalty, calling him back because I trust and am pleased with his service.

I just don't know what to do, though, when the man begins asking me to get breakfast with him in the morning, or go to a cafe on the other side of Istanbul for an afternoon. The seeming homo-eroticism of a man-date with Hamdi does not bother me. I have lived here long enough to know there is nothing sexual about it.

Rather, I simply don't feel a man-date with my driver is appropriate.

These things happen...

... I suppose.

I'll start with a story my friend Phil told me, one night over cards in Damascus.

One afternoon, whilst wandering the ancient paradise-turned-real estate venture we were using as a place for Arabic study and spy games, Phil had an epiphany: "The instance of random death or injury are much higher in the Middle East, than other places I have been."

This revelation was inspired by an air conditioning unit. Air conditioning units being not uncommon in desert climates, this unit was unique in that it had, seemingly out of boredom or discomfort, detached itself from the side of a tall apartment building. Without so much as a murmur to warm pedestrians, the air conditioner fell in a path predetermined by the Earth's gravitational pull, and crashed into the sidewalk fifty meters or less in front of Phil.

Friends may have noticed my habit of looking up whilst walking the city. This is an attempt to mitigate the threat of random death. If nothing else, this routine has saved me from having dirty laundry water dumped on me, and enabled me to avoid a few carelessly discarded cigarette butts.

Alas, in a world where the only benevolent force I observe is that of Murphy's Law (not so much a force as a universal constant), randomness caught up with me over the weekend.

Beşiktaş was in its final, and most important match of the past several years, Saturday night. Effectively tied with Sivas Spor, Beşiktaş needed a win in order to secure the championship. This has been a great season for my team (we won the Turkish Cup not two weeks ago), but I had never before had the pleasure of witnessing a winning season, much less a championship, for Beşiktaş.

I was excited.

Excitement took me to a crowded alley, that for the night of the match, was serving as a restaurant and viewing area. The match was taking place in Denizli, so television was our best option for watching it. Rakı, bira, peynir, yemek...

(Drunk + food)^match = good time

Here's a taste:




By the second half, we were ahead by a goal, and the news had come down that Sivas Spor was losing. You could smell the coming alcohol-fueled celebrations only 45 minutes away. We watched and drank and enjoyed the moment.

This is me, getting into the drama:




Sometime later, I noticed a few tourists walking past, gawking at the fervor. I thought to myself, "let's invite them to join us!"

So, I took my beer, left the throng of tables and people and food, and walked behind the TV to say "hello" to these Austrians, as they turned out to be.

The first rule about Beşiktaş matches: Never turn your back on the game. That's when you miss goals.

The second rule has something to do with fire...



Anyhow, I was separated from the solidarity of the pack... easy prey, as it were, for other drunk fans. When Beşiktaş scored its second goal, I didn't see it. I saw the reaction of my fellow diners, and I put my hands in the air. I began screaming some Turkish cheer (probably "Şampiyonluk bizim, kupa bizim!", the championship is ours, the cup is ours).

Then, someone picked me up...

I'm not sure why, but now airborn, I understood that this was all part of the celebration. I was fully held off the ground, by someone slightly shorter than me, but strong. Whoever he was, he was himself jumping around.

Then, he lost his balance.

As we tumbled I planted my right leg to stop the fall, and immediately felt the pop, which my doctor later identified as a torn ACL. Despite my effort, I didn't stop falling, and managed to end our trip ground-ward by planting my face firmly into the corner of the table which held the TV.

In the aftermath, as I collected my pieces, I noticed that the man was gone. I don't know who it was, and never saw him. My glasses were on the ground, and before I could collect the pieces, I had to wipe the blood off my face.

Then, for the first time that evening, I set down my beer.


Go Beşiktaş!

Not helping things...

I was reading this week that Turkey is using thermal cameras in airports, scanning international travelers who enter the country as part of their entry/passport control procedures. The effort is to detect those infected with swine flu, whose feverish symptoms are easily recognizable in the camera.

Libertarian concerns aside, I think it's a neat idea for finding infected people, ensure that they are treated, and containing the spread of a deadly disease.

Similar cameras are in use at the Bulgarian and Greek border crossings.

A colleague traveled to London, over the weekend, and so I asked her about the entry procedure. As she explained, there are two lines for passport control, one for Turkish nationals and another for foreign nationals. The line for foreign nationals was apparently backed up for hours, because each individual entering through this path had to pass through one of the cameras. However, it is a lucky time for Turks. They don't have to deal with the uncomfortable wait, long lines, or the thermal cameras: the only people being scanned, before entry into Turkey, are those who do not possess a Turkish passport and ID card.

I can only speculate, but the logic must run something akin to: Turkish people are Muslims and Muslims don't eat pork. Thus, Turkish people can't have been exposed to swine flu.

One of my colleagues has swine flu...

OK, we don't actually know for sure, because as I've explained before, having the shits can be part of the experience of living in Turkey.

His return to school this morning prompted a conversation, and then some internet research, to see if swine flu (domuz gribi in Turkish) has come to Turkey.

On May 4th, in the southern city of Antalya, a panic broke out following the announcement that a patient of Akdeniz University Medical Center had died from swine flu. The Health Department was quick to issue statements to calm the populace. The kinds of statements you would expect from the government were issued: "The deceased had not traveled abroad, and preliminary tests on the body have yielded no evidence of the H1N1 virus. An autopsy will be performed, but as yet there has been no death due to swine flu."

Turns out, they were wrong. Start panicking.

People in Istanbul began panicking about swine flu two days ago. I need to catch up! An American traveler brought the disease through the Ataturk Airport sometime last week, and separately, a Korean traveler did as well. While yesterday, two cases were reported in Kadikoy, a busy ferry stop on the Asian side of Istanbul. One can only assume that it is now everywhere.

Special thanks to Mr. MacDaniel for bringing this pandemic to the desk abutting my own.

1:02 minutes in Istanbul...

This is what my street sounded like at 11:21 this morning.

I like having the week off from work, cause it gives me time to actually live here.

The gentleman you hear yelling, intermittently, is selling pastries from a cart he is pushing through the street. He is one of several such men, who all push carts, either collecting or distributing something.

More on them later.

Istanbul is a jungle...

I've been here long enough that much of the shiny-newness of this city has rubbed off. It might be that I need a break from the extant stupidity I've dealt with over the last several months, but I really think that time, in any place, tends to do that. The colors dull, the novelty rubs off, and then there is the routine of sleep, work, play, repeat...

That's why meeting people, who are new to the city, can be really refreshing. They seem both childishly fascinated with this new place, and woefully naive of its pitfalls.

One such person, a Belgian I shared beers with on Monday, felt Istanbul offered an escape. Europe, as he explained it, was bureaucratic, over-regulated, and repressive. Istanbul offers him freedom, relaxed controls, and something wild.

"Istanbul is like a jungle," he said to me, "but Belgium was a zoo."

I haven't thought, in some time, of dependable infrastructure or safe traffic practices as signs of control... but I've also dealt with the lack thereof for nearly four years.

I appreciated his perspective. It was a reminder. At the same time, as I've aged, and protection from needless injury or unlawful treatment has become an increasing concern, I begun behaving as though Istanbul is indeed, a jungle. I'm no streetwise thug, but I believe this jungle has wrought changes that have made me a tougher, slightly more cunning, and more aggressive and empowered.

I'm not certain that all of these qualities are good things, in and of themselves.

Jungle or zoo, if nothing else, this city is definitely not Jacksonville...

Knee deep in 'Bul...

The suffering from jet-lag lasted through Friday, which is to be expected, and the return to Istanbul has been otherwise rocky, with visa responsibilities and such. We have furniture in our living room, so be looking for pictures in the next few weeks. My school is still crazy (no surprise). The weather is unusually warm, for February, and I've gotten the bike out again. I'm getting back into the rhythm of life abroad, and there's only one nagging problem...

I am having difficulty weening myself from the excesses of the past two weeks. In fact, I think they may finally have broken me down, as I sit here with a lung and tonsil infection, and a rather high fever.

Isn't the road to wisdom paved in excess?

I'm estimating some of these, but the numbers for Sean's two weeks in America break down roughly so:

2,978.6 miles driven

12 tanks of gas ≈ 120 gallons

≈ 4.5 gallons of beer (good stuff too, and PBR)

1 cigarette

14 slices of pizza

7 pancakes

3 plates of hashbrowns, eggs over medium, and some greasy meat

7 egg/cheese biscuits

a milkshake the size of my head

1 salsa lesson

7 places slept (including the car)

1 car battery killed
1 car towed

2 episodes of Gossip Girl watched

I missed the USA.

I also discovered a few things that I didn't think I would miss... among them, TELEVISION! While I've been gone, TV made radical improvements, and Veronica Mars and The Wire have dominated much of my sick-leave. I know it's old stuff, but who can really expect me to keep up on trends. Better to wait for the DVD anyhow, which offers hours of instant gratification, as I lay shivering in my bed.

Being on the road as much as we were, I observed a lot that I wasn't prepared for. The state of the economy is showing, or at least seems to be. I was shocked at the condition of the roads, which reminded me of Istanbul's, and New York's subway was pretty assed-out. Also, the people in gas stations were no longer peers (as they were years ago when I worked in such an establishment). Rather, the folks behind the registers were consistently older, over 30 and maybe even 40. I also distinctly remember a kinder gentleman in his 50s, who delivered a Dominos pizza to us at a friend's home.

That's probably the most alienating experience I've had, since moving abroad: realizing that I am doing very well, while our people suffer.

Here's hoping that people get organized...