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...

It's all in a name...

Having suffered my share of childhood torment over my namesake, I wanted to post some details from a conversation shared with several Americans a few nights ago. We were discussing Turkish names.

The friends in question are relatively new to Turkey, and commented that Turkish names sound similar to those of Klingons. It was a welcome reminder of my first year here, as I long ago adjusted to the sound Turkish names, tending now to get stuck on their meanings.

Being in a school setting, myself and fellow teachers have encountered a few that are especially worth sharing.

Hurşit (yep, that's "horseshit")

Tuba (pronounced just as it looks)

Tunacan (pronounced "too-na-jon", but who's going to guess that?)

Nigar (uh...)

Incidentally, my name is a disaster here, as it both uses a character that doesn't exist in Turkish ("X") and is not written phonetically. People remember my first name easily enough, as it is similar to the Turkish word for the vocal arts. Whenever someone has to spell it, however, or reads it from my passport, it becomes "Sea-an Jocks".

Not so bad, considering the case of an American woman here, who goes by Tash (which means "stone" in the native speak). She had to shorten her moniker from Natasha, which is Turkish for "prostitute".

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...

Re-entry...

I'll be coming back to the United States in a week, along with a room mate, for a two week whirl-wind trip to visit EVERYBODY. As we ate lunch yesterday, we started to rattle off a list of the things we missed and looked forward to. I pressed my memory to remember as many of those things as I could below:

A cooked bird
Stuffing
Hash Browns
Waffles
Filtered Coffee
Milk Shakes
The Greasy Diner
Thai Food
Options other than Turkish cuisine
Making fun of Democrats
Driving
Infrastructure
Grids (City Planning)
Personal Space
People not caring about our behavior
Guiness
Red Stripe
Being funny
Being understood
Talking to girls

I'm excited to be heading home.

I'm not smoking cigarettes...

... this year.

In the tradition of recycling New-year's resolutions (in 2007 and 2008, I resolved to brush my teeth three times a day), I've decided that the cigarette I smoked the morning of January 1st is my last for the year. Since I wasn't smoking that much to begin with, this is more like an extended Lent, as I'm giving up a pleasure and less an addiction.

Turkey is the reason I smoke at all, and a testament both to the power of peer pressure and nostalgia. The conniving, insidious Turk, is always ready to offer their cigarettes to others: leaving them on tabletops to be plucked at will, offering them with glasses of tea, and insisting that the always-within-reach pack be shared. Also, and I know non-smokers won't understand this, a cigarette ties together the experience of a full Turkish meal quite nicely.

Three years ago, my friends Gregg, Mahir, and I, took a trip to the south-east of Turkey, hitchhiking our way around. You meet a lot of people that way, and Turks are probably friendlier than most Americans are either used to or able to fully appreciate. This "Turkish hospitality" often involves offering whatever is available to be offered: tea, food, wall decorations (true story), or smokes. After a week on the road, I had mostly filled an empty pack, graciously taking the gifted cigarettes and storing them away. After that week, I just started trying to smoke them, and thus, another bad habit was born!

I've never been more than a pack a month smoker, and often much less, but the considerable body of evidence showing how bad smoking is for me, and the mysterious cold I've had of late, have led me to abandon the practice... for now.

I haven't been put to task yet, but temptation will surely be a problem the next time I sit down for mezze and fish, reach for my rakı, and watch all my friends light up.

To be honest, just thinking about the experience makes me a little sad that I've taken the vow.

Maybe I'll just try to keep the number of cigarettes I smoke this year under twenty or so...

Some Links...

I wanted to make the lives of the curious that much easier, and gathered several links about the revolution (not sure what else to call it) in Greece. They include:

Statement by Greek Anarchists/ Anti-Authoritarians

Blog of a British Anarchist

Link to pictures... everything is basically on fire.

There was a call for global solidarity protests today, and I'll be checking the newspapers tomorrow to see if anything happened in Turkey. Last night, as we strolled past the Greek consulate, along the Istiklal, I noticed a police bus parked directly in front of the entrance, several cops dozing inside.

It was a rainy day today, but I do so hope they had to earn their paychecks.

Pepper gas makes me sneeze...

There is a key component to political activism, one that all of my direct action experiences have lacked, and that is the potential to go completely bat-shit crazy.

In the run-up to the Iraq war, myself and 200,000 "focus group" members marched on Washington D.C. It was icy-cold, we had driven all night, and after listening to speeches on the mall, we took a long walk through the city toward the Navy yard. I knew I was there to oppose the coming war, but I remember saying to a friend:

"If we have all these people, and we really want to prevent this war, why don't we take over and occupy the White House and the Capitol Building. It'll at least be warmer."

So much for that plan. It's a lucky thing we were wrong and the war was a success.

Last May, I participated in an Istanbullu leftist right-of-passage, marching on Taksim Square to commemorate the victims of the 1 Mayis, 1977, state-authorized massacre there. About 20,000 protestors came out this year, in various parts of the city. Ultimately, we weren't much of a match for the 30,000 police and 2,000 jandarme, who had a busy day, and began raiding buildings and making arrests before dawn.

My friends and I got into Taksim on our good looks and charm, talking our way past a few cops by playing the "English teacher" card. I participated in one clash with police, which was a lot of running away from pepper grenades and water cannons, and after that I spent part of the day wandering the neighborhood observing smaller clashes, as the police demostrated their complete control of the situation. So thorough in their control were they, that at one point they beat and arrested some tourists. Me, I mostly just drank coffee in a leftist cafe, filled with other leftists hiding from an almost certain ass-kicking.

Walking home that day, my nose began to sting a little, like I'd just eaten something spicy. As a fit of sneezing set in, I realized I would probably never be much of a revolutionary. Sneezing like a baby panda doesn't exactly inspire fear.

Because these experiences were both unfulfilling and unsuccessful, I have the utmost respect for what Greek anarchists are doing to their country. In response to the slaying of a teenager by police, Greek leftists and youths have asserted their destructive potential. What better way to let your government know it has screwed up, than to burn it to the ground.

It has certainly gotten the attention of the powers-that-be.

I don't want this to be a treatise on government, or I would explain my reasoned argument for my support (I've even decided to start learning modern Greek!). I think it is sufficient to say that property destruction, interruption of infrastructure, and the shock-and-awe value of such tactics, is what state authorities respond to and how reform is provoked. Certainly, there are other methods, but those I listed above should have remained on the table before the Iraq war began, and they could make a valuable point here in Turkey as well.

In the last year, Turkish police violence has risen dramatically, detainees have been tortured or killed, and such behavior from police has become the rule, rather than the exception.

It's an old platitude, but one that appears tried and true:

No justice, no peace.