Ann Marie’s Istanbul

Let’s see…this is my fifth year in Istanbul, and at least my tenth trip to Termal. I wonder how many times I’ve written about it. The joy of being over 50 is that every experience seems new.

Actually, I wanted my friend Sally to experience Termal, one of my favorite spots in Turkey. It’s only a few hours away, and with a few days off school, I decided to go for it. Sally and I hopped the Fast Ferry on Wednesday morning for the hour-and-a-half luxury trip over the water. We found the nicest seats on the boat, ordered Turkish coffee, and were basking in the joy of our adventure when a young couple interrupted us. Apparently it wasn’t open seating, and we were in their carefully-selected spots. Oops. Blush. Affidersiniz (Excuse us.)

We were met at the pier by the lovely Gizem, a young Turkish woman who had worked in Grand Marais all summer.

Gizem, our lovely guide

She led us along the beach to a celebration of Republic Day at the Ataturk statue, where I snapped a few photos. It never ceases to amaze me how very much the Turkish people value their independence. We Americans tend to take it for granted.

A military celebration of Turkey’s Republic Day

Then Gizem treated us to soup in a lovely restaurant, then brought us to the street bazaar. After reveling in the colors and sounds and general hubbub of the bazaar, we grabbed some roasted chestnuts and hopped on a mini-bus to Termal, which is located in the mountains above Yalova.

Ah, OLIVES!!!

…and pumpkins, also doubling as winter squash in my recipes.

We checked into the Çamlık Hotel, pleased to see that we had a spacious balcony overlooking the river. Gizem headed home to help her mother with dinner (we, of course, were invited), and Sally and I packed up bathing supplies to visit the hamam (Turkish bath). After changing into bathing suits (which we really didn’t need), we clomped (in our plastic scuff slippers) down the marble stairs to the showers. We had a bit of trouble managing the temperature, so we started our experience fully chilled. We walked down a white and gray marble hallway to the spring-fed pool, which was a little murky from the recent rain, as it’s fed directly from a hot spring. It was warm, though, and lovely, much like a huge marble hot tub.

Sally and me in front of the Valide Sultan Hamam

Next was the sauna, heated also by water from hot springs. One nice thing about the Termal hot springs is that they don’t stink. Relief. The floor of the sauna is slatted marble with hot water bubbling beneath it and steam rising into the room. As hot as it was, we were surprised that the wooden seats were sit-able. We were the only ones in there. Apparently saunas aren’t popular with Turkish women, and we were the only yabanci (foreigners) in the whole hamam. We probably looked dopey with our suits on, as the other women were dressed only in panties. Oh, well. It’s not like we were trying to blend in or anything.

After the sauna we went to the banyo, where marble benches and large, round marble sinks surround the room. We scrubbed ourselves from top to bottom, dipping a bowl into the sink and sloshing it over ourselves. A gutter running around the perimeter of the room brings all the excess water to who-knows-where. A huge round marble slab fills the center of the room, much like a low tabletop, about 15 feet in diameter. This, too, is heated, and you lie on it, feeling like a big slab of pie dough. It’s hot, but we coped.

Last, but CERTAINLY not least, we headed for the massage room. We each had an phenomenal massage by Fatma, the strongest woman on the planet (or at least in Turkey). Oh, my—it hurt so GOOD!!! Instead of massage oil, hamams use soap, which slithers across your skin in a deliciously sensuous slide to oblivion. That was the best 20 lira ($12.50) I’ve spent in years! Fatma finished by pouring buckets of hot water over us to wash away the soap. Oh, my goodness. How I wish I could bring her home with me, at least to Arnavutköy!

The historical Turkish hamam with David and Sally in the foreground.

Another sauna and one last scrub finished us, then we dragged our limp bodies back upstairs to dress before dinner at Gizem’s house.

We caught a blue mini-bus back to the city, which was an adventure in itself. Our driver was young, accompanied by two of his cronies. They stopped to chat with friends who passed in the street, then stopped at a store to pick up cigarettes. It felt more like “criusin’ with the dudes” than taking a public bus. Fun, though—or at least amusing.

Gizem and her brother Giray met us at the bus stop and guided us to their apartment just around the corner. We parked our shoes outside the door, and Gizem handed us each a pair of pointy, black velvet, boa-enhanced, heeled slippers to wear. “This is Turkish tradition,” she said with a smile. “I’m not sure I can get into them,” I said—and I was right. My foot hung three inches over the heels, so you can imagine how gracefully I teetered across the living room. I’m sure they had a good laugh over it after we left. Gizem’s family welcomed us warmly, though, and they made us feel very much at home. Elif (her mother) had prepared a lovely dinner of lentil soup, salad, çig köfte, and güveç (a broiled individual casserole). The table was tastefully set with bread arranged around each plate. It was lovely, and each dish was scrumptious.

Elif serving up the best çorba (soup) in Yalova

Giray, Cemile, and Elif with me and Sally (photo by Gizem’s father)

When we left, lo and behold, who was driving the mini-bus but our friendly dudes. They laughed a welcome, joking with us as before. Another cruise home.

The next morning my friend David arrived to share our day. We lingered over breakfast coffee, then enjoyed the sunny morning with a hike. We explored a new route up the hill across the river, finally emerging on a mountain-top meadow inhabited by a cow and her calf.

A young calf relaxed at the top of the mountain…at least until we arrived,

when he went to graze safely by his mother.

The view was spectacular and made up for the two tons of mud we’d hauled up on our shoes.

A view from the top

The mud built into huge clumps almost like snowshoes.

More hamam, more food (soup, pide, and ayran), more trekking, and a ferry ride home. Fortunately, the rain held off until we headed home. Oh, my!

After soup, we enjoyed cheese pide (like pizza) and veggies. Yum!

I’ve been playing tour guide again, and I love it.

Enter Sally Nankivell, a visitor from Grand Marais (my home town). She’s been reading my weekly missives for years now, and decided it was finally time to trek to Istanbul. Heck, a free room on the Bosphorous and an eager host? It’s a no-brainer! I was tickled when she booked a ticket last summer, and now she’s here.

I met her at the airport Saturday afternoon—along with two lovely young girls who had worked in Grand Marais last summer, Cemile and Gizem. Though they had met Sally only a few times in Minnesota, they were eager to welcome her to their side of the Atlantic. Such warmth and generosity is very Turkish. We four spent Saturday evening together in Arnavutköy and Bebek, strolling along the Bosphorous, then enjoying an outdoor sunset dinner at Bebek’s Midpoint Restaurant. (By the way, bebek is the Turkish word for baby. Hmmm…)

Me, Gizem, Sally, and Cemile at the Midpoint Restaurant in Bebek

Sally slept until eleven Sunday (after a sleepless night), then we headed into Sultanahmet to see the “usual” sites. She had delivered a new camera for me (my old one died a painful death in September), and I was eager to give it a whirl. It’s my third version of the same Olympus, this new model cheaper than the other two. Anyway, instead of the expected 10X optical zoom, this one has a 26X zoom as well as a wide-angle lens. Oh, my! Ask me if I was thrilled.

A fellow crossing the road at the bus stop in Arnavutköy–must have been a rough night.

The famed Blue Mosque in Sultanahmet

A little Turkish maiden cavorting among the devout…

The Blue Mosque courtyard

So—we spent a fair amount of time snapping photos inside the Blue Mosque, then I lured Sally over to a well-hidden gem that few tourists discover: Yerbatan Sarnıcı, The Basilica Cistern. It was one of my favorite discoveries on my first trip into the city, and I love sharing it with visitors. You’d never find it if you didn’t know where to look, as the entrance is a small stone building just off the tramway. The entrance is the only nondescript thing about it, though. Once through the entry, you descend a wide stone stairway into a subterranean wonderland.

The ceiling of the Cistern from the stairway landing…awesome!

The cistern is a huge underground “lake” of water originally conveyed by aquaducts from the Belgrade Forest, 19 kilometers north of the city. Built in the 6^th century by the Byzantine Emperor Justinian, the cistern consists of a network of hundreds of vaulted brick domes supported by 30-foot marble columns. The cistern’s 336 columns are believed to be recycled from older buildings in the area because they are of mixed design. Most of the columns have ornate Corinthian capitals, while some are Doric and Ionic. I guess it wasn’t all that easy to find 336 matching columns back in the day.

Looking down a row of columns to the peacock column in the distance

My favorite is the peacock column, or the “tears column,” decorated with the motif of peacock tail feather eyes. It also has a thumb-sized hole in its side. You place a thumb in the hole, make a wish, then rotate the rest of your hand in a full circle. I guess then the wish comes true. Right.

The Peacock column–note the hand up against the “wishing hole.”

Imagine semi-darkness, medieval background music, dripping water, and wooden walkways through a forest of gently lit columns. Few things in Istanbul transport me back quite like the cistern.

Sally and I meandered back to the mysterious gorgon Medusa heads. Apparently they weren’t discovered until the mid-1980’s when the cistern was renovated to accommodate tourists. Two ancient marble Medusas (one upside down and one sidways) serve as the bases for columns in a far corner of the cistern. Remember Medusa, the goddess with hair of snakes whose glance would turn people to stone? Yup, that’s her—right there in the Basilica Cistern. Go figure!

The upside-down Medusa

The cistern has another claim to fame, too. It was used for a scene in From Russia With Love in 1963. Although it was located far from the Russian Consulate, few people realized the discrepancy, and it made for a great chase scene on the water between the columns.

The cistern once provided water for Topkapi Palace and its gardens, but it eventually went into disuse. During the final restorations of the mid-1980’s, over 50,000 tons of mud were removed to bring the cistern back to its original state.

Pretty awesome.

After that, Sally and I relaxed with a cup of tea at the Caferağa Medresesi, another favorite spot where the ancient classrooms and sleeping rooms of a medieval Koran school are now used to teach the fine arts of ceramic painting, ebru (paper marbling), miniature painting, ceramic design, jewelry making and many other art forms. It’s a peaceful little spot in one of the busiest parts of the city, humming with the quiet activity of artists.

The tea courtyard at the Caferağa Medresesi, with classrooms in the background.

The fine art of ebru, or paper marbling, is taught here.

A jewelry class crowded into one of the tiny classrooms.

After that we hopped back on the tram and bus to Ortaköy, where we indulged in a fruit-and-chocolate-filled waffle, a Bosphorous cruise, and a quiet dinner. Sigh…

Our fruit waffle–imagine it all rolled up. YUM!!!

This dear woman made us gozleme, a meal-in-a-minute. She’s rolling filo-like pastry (yufka), which will be spread with cheese, potatoes, and spinach, then folded into an envelope and fried. There’s one on the cooker behind her.

A good time was had by all.

I was going to write about the Istanbul Marathon today, but I must sheepishly admit that my friends and I were put off by a bit of rain. Actually, it was pouring this morning, and I didn’t much want to walk in the rain, especially with my still-reticent knees. Missed the annual opportunity to walk from Asia to Europe. Maybe next year…

The Marathon we missed on Sunday

SO—instead, I’ll share my world. First off, the apartment. My apartment is more than sweet, a little train-like affair of three consecutive rooms. My double-bolted door is situated up a dozen marble stairs from the street, an enclosed, roofed stairway. After it rains, scores of tiny tree snails crawl up the walls. It’s unbelievable. I have to sweep the snails down a few times a week.

Once you step in the door, you’ll see a small kitchen on the left with new granite countertops and bright, shining cupboards. I don’t have enough to fill them yet, but you never know. The recycling is piling up, and that takes some space.

My kitchen

To the right of the entryway is a tiny bathroom—adequate for one person. Don’t try to brush your teeth at the same time as me, though; you might fall into the toilet. There’s a small shower with a molded fiberglass seat, good for piling newly-washed sheets and rugs. Laundry is a challenge here, as I have no washing machine, and town doesn’t seem to have a laundromat. I’m washing things by hand and learning why women didn’t used to work outside the home. No time! Have to find a washboard, I think.

OK, back to the apartment. You step through a glass-paned wooden door into the living room, which sports a couch, two easy chairs, and a little half-round table. It’s perfect for me, and I can even entertain a few people. I’ve hung a bright red rug over the couch, and I have my green ushak on the floor.

Libby curled up with my knitting in the living room

The premier feature of this room, though, is the view. I sit at my windowside table and marvel at the glittering Bosphorous as ships both huge and tiny navigate the busy waterway.  The metal grills over the windows hardly bother me; all first floor windows are grilled in Istanbul—safety.

My perch in the living room

Through the next door is a bedroom with a double bed, a dresser, a low cabinet, and yet another breathtaking view. Libby perches on a suitcase wedged next to the window and supervises the neighborhood. Just below her lookout is the 203-step “street” (Eğlence Sokağı) leading “downtown”. There’s plenty of foot traffic on it, both two and four-legged. Libby, of course, finds the latter more intriguing.

Libby’s supervisory seat for the neighborhood

A train-like view through the bedrooms

The last room, through yet another glass-paned door, is my guest room/office. There you’ll find an armoire, a desk, wall shelves, and a single bed. Of course, this room also features the fabulous Bosphorous vista. Lucky me, huh?

a cloudy-day Bosphorous view…

Libby and I go for a walk two or three times a day. She’s particularly fond of the local felines and has developed a complicated ritual of chasing them. If she’s not scrabbling after one under a parked car, she’s chasing another into the nearest tree.

A young calico glowers at Libby from the top of a convertible.

Many of these cats have computed the length of her leash (16 feet, retractable), and they often stop just beyond her reach to thumb their kitten noses at her. Another favorite trick is to come flying back at her. Occasionally a cat will stand its ground, and Libby knows better than to push her luck. She’s been scratched before, and she didn’t much like it.

A stand-off beside a car.

The hardest part of Libby’s world is the stray dogs. They just aren’t that fond of her, particularly Irma. She’s a stray just up the street on the way to school, and one of her ears is missing. Is that what makes her so cranky? Who knows. When she sees Libby her hackles go up and she sneaks in for the attack. If I spot her in time, I scold her, and she lurks off. She often surprises us later though, the little minx. She was adopted by a neighbor (the daughter of the nice retired man who walks Pablo, a big bulldog), and she thinks she’s in charge of the neighborhood. Oh, well. Maybe she is. I tried bringing treats for her, but she’ll only take them if Libby isn’t around, and she’s never come close enough to be petted.

The usual doggie-sniffing routine

It’s not just Irma, though. It’s ALL the stray dogs. They lie in wait for Libby, then as we come down the street they start the barking chain, like in Lady and the Tramp. Every morning we leave the house around 6 AM, and within minutes the entire pack of Arnavutkoy dogs are barking their heads off, warning each other that Libby’s on her walk. “It’s only fair, since you terrorize the cats,” I tell her. Libby rolls her eyes.

Libby’s favorite—the kitty buffet

I have to tell you, though, that both Libby and I are happy here in spite of the problems we face. Heck, when is life all roses? Of course, we both like to THINK it is, even if it rains on our marathon. Sigh…

I have a confession to make. I have a habit of skimming official e-mails. Consequently, I often miss attachments, addendums, and sometimes very important information. A case in point:

I have been trying for weeks to meet with my editor, Zarife, about marketing my new guidebook, Istanbul’s Bazaar Quarter~Backstreet Walking Tours. Zarife has a new baby and only works from 11 to 3, so our hours don’t mesh. When I learned that we would have the day off on Tuesday, I thought it was perfect. We arranged to meet at 1:00 at the Çitlembik offices, near Taksim Square.

You may have heard that the International Monetary Fund meetings were held in Istanbul this week. So had I. In fact, I received an e-mail from the American Consulate warning us to avoid the Istanbul Congress Center in Harbiye for the duration of the meetings. OK, fine. (I should have read on, but I didn’t. In fact, I wasn’t even sure where Harbiye was.)

So, just before noon on Tuesday I hopped a bus to Taksim. I was pretty surprised when they re-routed us around the Beşiktaş area, but I figured that must have been where the convention was. No problem.

Traffic was backed up, and I checked my watch. Time was getting tight. Much to my consternation, the bus stopped just above the Beşiktaş arena, about 10 blocks below Taksim. Everyone got off the bus and started walking. Hmmmm…

I should have figured all was not well at that point, but I forged on with the rest of the people from the bus.

As we trudged up İnönü Caddesi, police stood at intervals guarding the traffic-free street. Soon I saw broken shop windows, a completely smashed bus stop, an overturned security booth, and a smoldering fire in the middle of the street.

I saw broken shop windows…

…a smashed bus stop near the Technical University…

…and workers trying to clean up the fiery mess left by protesters.

Suddenly a mass of police in riot gear charged up the street. Oh, my goodness! I snapped some photos, trying to look inconspicuous (a difficult task for a tall, white-haired Nordic woman).

Police charging up the street in riot gear

As I approached Taksim Square, things seemed to be settling down. Maybe I could still make it to my meeting. I had ten minutes.

As I came around the corner, a column of police dragged struggling, yelling protesters toward the square from İstiklal (the main walking street below Taksim Square).

Police escorting unruly protestors to waiting police vans

a handcuffed protester

Oops—maybe not so safe, after all. I hoped against hope that the demonstrations were over so I could make my way down İstiklal to Çitlembik. As I turned down the street, people were milling around while shopkeepers stood behind locked doors. Further down I spotted turmoil in the crowded street.

Now what? Maybe I could circumvent the demonstration by going over a few blocks and walking down Şıraselviler Caddesi. I turned right and headed down there, then saw even more police on that street. ARAUGHHH!!! I was caught between a rock and a hard place—demonstrations seemed to be everywhere.

Oops–not that street either! They’re EVERYWHERE!!!!

Tear gas stung my eyes, so I ducked into a building where I ran into a young woman. Nothing like a little anxiety to break the ice. She was a tour guide and was supposed to be at the airport meeting a group of 40 Spanish tourists. “I can’t get there,” she said. “I’ll have to call the bus driver and have him bring them here to me.”

“Not a good idea,” I countered. “This is the LAST place you’d want to bring a group of tourists. See if you can get to Sultanahmet and have him meet you there.”

I called my publishing office to cancel my meeting. I knew I’d never make it through another 20 blocks teeming with demonstrators and riot police. What a DOPE I am!

It turned out that Zarife lives about two blocks from Taksim Square (away from the protests), and when she had headed out for the office, she saw the protesters and went straight back home. (She hadn’t known my new cell phone number.) She gave me directions to her apartment, and I headed off with my new friend. Whew! We had to cross near Taksim Square again, but there were scores of police to protect us—and they did. We were really in no danger. I waved goodbye to the tour guide and headed off to find Zarife’s apartment.

After some calming tea and a good strategy meeting, Zarife directed me to a safe metro stop, where I hopped on a metro away from the fray–to Levent. There I grabbed a cab to my quiet, peaceful village of Arnavutköy, where I picked up a few fresh vegetables at the street market. Ah, tranquility! Thank goodness for small pleasures.

Construction workers tap cobblestones into the streets of Arnavutköy.

Arnavutköy’s peaceful Tuesday bazaar. Ah….

~            ~

By the way, I later learned that there were 10,000 police on Istanbul’s streets to protect the IMF’s 15,000 visitors. The Turkish police are often a presence in Istanbul, and this time their vigilance kept the protests under control, quickly impeding the illegal activities of hundreds of protesters. And just think, if I’d read my whole e-mail, I would have missed the whole thing (which would have been JUST FINE).

I’ve been nearly a month in Istanbul now—and my knees are FURIOUS!!!!

I live at the top of the village of Arnavutköy, an enchanting old settlement on the Bosphorous. It’s an Ottoman version of San Francisco. The streets leading up to my apartment vary from 25-degree to 45-degree inclines. I kid you not. In fact, some feel even steeper.

This lovely house shows the slant of the Arnavutköy streets.

About half the streets are just stairways. The one leading down in front of my building has 203 stairs, and that still leaves about 4 steep blocks to the waterfront. I’ve been walking Libby down to the Bosphorous twice a day—something we’ll have to give up until my knees rebound.

This is the switchback road that goes AROUND the 203 steps below my apartment.

On the other hand, every walk through the village means reveling in the picturesque views of wooden Ottoman houses, many of which have been renovated. Renovated, I might say, at great cost. (One has pounded tin siding—very cool!) And that against the backdrop of the glittering Bosphorous.

The amazing tin-sided house.

Unfortunately, many of these old houses are rotting on the vine, so to speak. Apparently they have uncertain ownership or disputed titles. In the States, homes with back taxes go into public auction, while in Turkey they just crumble. Real estate in Arnavutköy is at a premium, though, so more and more are being snapped up and redone. Good thing.

A renovated Ottoman house beside a crumbling one.

Back to my cranky knees…

In addition to the steep hills below me, I’m only about halfway up the hill, and I have to walk up to school each day. That trek isn’t TOTALLY uphill, but mostly. I go down a short block, up a STEEP incline, up a long, gradual incline, down a bit, then through a security gate and up about 20 steps to the main school road. From there it’s another 50-yard climb up to the school buildings. 24 more outside steps get me to the main entrance, and then another 70 get me to my attic office. I do between 300 and 450 stairs each day just in the building. No wonder my knees are crabby.

Robert College’s Gould Hall in it’s full national holiday regalia.

After a week of pretty distressing aches, I called my friend Dr. Mike, who has tended my ailing knees for years. “Well,” he said after asking all the pertinent questions, “First of all, your knees need a rest. Stop climbing stairs and hills for the next few weeks.” Right. I shared this suggestion with a few fellow teachers, and the response was a hearty  guffaw. Rest? Not an option at Robert.

Robert College is old and gorgeous, but it’s located on a very steep hill, and there’s only one elevator—not in my building. That’s just the way it is. So—I went out tonight and bought myself a hot water bottle. Made by Kraft, no less. “This hot water bottle is made of natural rubber,” is printed on its neck. Smells like it, too. The price was actually 6.75 lira, but the druggist didn’t have change, so he gave it to me for five (about $3.50). At least some things are going my way.

A lovely renovated house facing the Bosphorous

So—I’m sitting in my lovely Arnavutköy apartment, knees propped up on my new, blue, eau-de-rubber hot water bottle, listening to Debussy and typing my woeful tale.

But guess what? I’m happy as a clam.

As my father always says, “Things work out.”

“Where is Erzurum?” you might ask. Ah—not many know. Many don’t even know where Turkey is. Well, Erzurum is a city in NE Turkey, not far from the border with Georgia (formerly in Russia). That’s why we went there, to see the Georgian churches and monasteries tucked away in the mountains. Last spring my friend John Tessitore suggested that we trek out there during our long bayram weekend this fall.

We met at Sabiha airport on Saturday morning for the 1 ½ hour flight, rented a car at the airport, and headed out. Though I expected a small city, Erzurum has a third of a million people.

We had a bit of a problem finding our way, although we knew the street we wanted. For some reason Erzurum doesn’t have street signs. When I asked a policeman for directions, he obliged us by putting on the flashers on and leading us through the city right to our hotel. Talk about Turkish hospitality.

The Kral Hotel lobby looked a bit dingy, but their renovated Selcuk rooms sparkled. After settling in and having a cup of tea with the clerk, we headed out to explore. Our first site was the Yakut Seminary (built in 1310), presently under renovation. Its tall minaret dominated the scene with brick and turquoise decorations and cone-shaped roof, typical of much of the architecture we saw that day.

Yakut Seminary Minaret

We wandered in and out of a few spots before our destination: the Çifte Minareli Medrese, or Twin Minaret Seminary. This lovely edifice, built in 1253, is the focal point of Erzurum. Although it was closed, a man outside beckoned us in, explaining some of the details of the interior stone decorations. He was interesting, and fiercely proud of the city’s historical buildings.

Twin Minaret Seminary

Close up on one of the Twin Minarets

Tomb of Huant Hatun

He also walked us up to see the Üç Kümbetler, the Three Tombs. These were Saltuk and Seljuk tombs, again with conical roofs and side panels. Built before 1200, they were quite impressive. Two little boys cavorted inside the gates, which were locked. Of course, our friend brought us to his rug shop to show us his wares—should have figured. I didn’t succumb, though.

We ate at the Güzelyurt (yes, yurt) Restaurant, and we agreed that we had the best soup we’d ever eaten. GREAT food.

Saturday morning we woke to no electricity—or hot water. Sigh… Luckily, the lobby had gas-heated hot water for my French press. We reveled in our morning coffee as we waited for lights, which came before our cups were drained.
We headed out in the drizzle, hoping for blue sky. The highway wasn’t busy—except for a few cows on the highway.

Our first Georgian church was the Haho Monastery. Don’t ask me where they got that name, but it made for great jokes. The monastery, built at the end of the 10th century, was impressive. Its heavy rock construction was adorned with both colored stone and intricate carving. The insides were a bit of a shambles, but after 1000 years, who wouldn’t be? I was surprised to again see the cone-shaped roof on a conical dome. Very different from what we’re used to. Imagine—these were built during Europe’s Dark Ages.

Haho Monastery

Haho Monastery side window

Our second church was called Ösk Vank, a taller church with, once again, a conical dome. It was built at the end of the 10th century, dedicated to John the Baptist. Stepping inside, the high vaulted ceiling drew our eyes up. This church had more ornate carvings than Haho, and we saw the remains of religious frescoes high on the walls. Just think—1000 years old!

Ösk Vank exterior

Ösk Vank interior dome

Ösk Vank viewed from below

Our next stop was at Tortum Göl (lake) for a lunch of fresh trout and salad. It’s all they offer, but it couldn’t be better, let me tell you!

After lunch we found the road to Işhan—a grueling switchback road threading around hairpins up a mountain (single lane, mind you) to an unbelievably high spot. How in the world they got people to come to church that high, I’ll never understand. There must have been a spring up there, though, because it was greener than anywhere else except the valleys. Hmmm… Yet another very impressive church, this one with countless pillars in its construction. The Church of the Mother of God, as it’s called, is probably the oldest church we saw, dating to before 800. Amazingly, some of the frescoes were still bright.

Işhan–Church of the Mother of God

Işhan–dome

We had a number of children approach us at this church, as it’s near a village where they were out gathering holiday sweets from their family and neighbors (much like Halloween in the U.S.) Everywhere people of all ages walked the roads, visiting friends and relatives to celebrate the end of a month of fasting.

Village girls out to celebrate the end of fasting–the bayram

Exhausted, we decided to head for Altiparmak, where we had reserved a room at the Karahan Pension. This was by far the most hair-raising part of our entire trip. The road to the Karahan was 30 kilometers of single-lane, winding, hairpin turn, blind corner roadway following a river between the mountains. It took us an hour and a half to navigate it, although that included a 15-minute wait for a head-on collision to be cleared.
ARAUGHHH!!! We stopped at a small village for tea to calm our nerves.

When we finally got to the pension, we saw a sign inviting us to climb another 50 meters on foot up the mountain…

ONE more climb! (that would be me)

The Karahan family welcomed us warmly and one of Mehmet’s grown sons led us up yet another 40 steps to our aerie. We sat on the balcony and sipped tea along with chocolate candies supplied—of course—for the bayram. We spotted two ancient chapels perched on the facing mountainside, one at the top, and one about two-thirds of the way up. Chapels for mountain goats.

Unfortunately, we just about froze at the Karahan. We shared dinner with a lovely British couple (the only other guests) in the unheated lodge. BRRRR!! I slept with my socks on with three heavy blankets—two of them doubled over.

The next morning Ahmet (one of the sons) guided us to the nearby Barhal Church (also known as Altıparmak), a much different style from the previous churches we’d seen. It has a Nordic shape, much like a stave church—very tall, with a second higher peaked roof above the main one. Built around 970, its carvings and construction seemed spare after the ornate churches we’d seen. It has its own beauty, though—a note of majesty in its simplicity.

the Barhal (Altiparmak) Monastery

The rain returned, so we decided to head down to lower altitudes for hoped-for heat. The road was less busy (thank goodness), and we only met a few vehicles.

After a quick lunch in Yusufelli, we headed off to find the Dörtkilise (four churches). We had nearly given up when we discovered a sloping, tree-shaded meadow with a massive stone structure above it. Aha! Believed to be built before 960, the main church was much like Barhal—a double-roofed affair, though far more ornate. Plants growing from the walls and roofs added to its charm. We tramped the hills exploring the ruined chapels beside the church, which is still impressive. We were surprised to find some frescoes still intact on the walls of the ancient sanctuary.

Dörtkilise Monastery-main building

Dörtkilise side building with arches

And then—the real adventure: finding a place to rest our heads. In the tiny hamlet of Takkale, we came across Cemil’s Pension, a jerry-rigged and totally charming establishment situated on the river. Cemil was a congenial host, offering the usual tea and chatting with us in English, Turkish, and French. He was also the chef, and prepared us a delectable dinner of fresh trout (caught by him that day) complemented with fresh garden salad (from his own garden), bulgar, and succulent grapes from his vines. Oh, my. And rakı—my first in Turkey—as we sat outside chatting after dinner. A fine finish to a lovely long weekend.

Cemil creates breakfast in his sweet little kitchen

Cemil’s kitten waits on a railing for leftovers

FINALLY…the sun returned for our Tuesday breakfast and trek back home. Wouldn’t you know it!

My friend John revels in the morning sunshine.

I’m sitting in the Munich airport enduring the four hours before my flight to Toronto—then to Thunder Bay, where Dad and Eileen will pick me up.  I have a tight connection in Toronto, so I’m not too optimistic. I’ll get home somehow, though. I wish I could trade one of these hours for one in Toronto.

It’s nice to fit in here in the Munich—unlike in Istanbul where my height and fairness attract attention. Here I’m one of many tall, light-skinned people, and there are even other gray-haired women. In Turkey all the women dye their grey hair, which I didn’t notice until it was pointed out to me by Uygar’s mother. She said, “You should grow your hair long and dye it dark so you look younger. All Turkish women do.” Hmphhh.

It’s been a busy last week for me, in spite of some serious thumb-twiddling at school.

Instead of thumb-twiddling, these creative teachers videotaped “The Plagiar-Busters”. Left to right, Celine Clark, Andrea Ball, and Tracey Zimmerman

Last weekend I coaxed my friend David to load up his car with my “apartment belongings” so I could move into my new Arnavutköy digs. We left at the crack of dawn (well, actually 7AM) to beat the traffic, and it worked. It took us about a half hour to get there, which would have been nearly two hours later in the day. Robert College has already delivered some furniture, though it isn’t set up yet. It’s sort of piled at this point, but the progress is encouraging. My small three-room apartment is bright with a lovely view overlooking the Bosphorous. It sits right at the top of Arnavutköy, and I’ll have a 5-10 minute walk to school each day. Lucky me! I think I’m going to bring my bike, too. I’ve missed biking, and I hope bike along the Bosphorous early each morning morning.

A preview of my future Arnavutköy living room–:)

After we moved everything in, we walked up to Bebek for coffee at the most beautiful Starbuck’s in the world.

David and I lift a toast to life on the Bosphorous at the Bebek Starbuck’s

We watched the C. SWEEPER in action (Sea Sweeper—get it?) Fascinating. It’s a huge tug-looking boat that picks up trash from the water. One man stands on the deck directing the pilot as he maneuvers to pick up bottles, cans, and other refuse floating on the water. The hull of the boat is open, with a conveyor belt that lifts the garbage up to a bin on the deck.

The famed “C. SWEEPER”

At one point, too, the deck hand used a long-handled net to pick up a bottle. It seemed like a mighty big boat for such small tasks, but maybe it also cleans up oil spills and stuff. Who knows?

The “C.SWEEPER” in action–see the plastic bottle at it’s mouth?

We walked back up to the apartment (a serious uphill hike), and I opted to stay behind and hike to Ortaköy to pick up earrings requested by a friend. It was just an excuse to stay in the city, actually. I’d catch the 2:45 service bus to school from Taksim. Saturday and Sunday are always busy in Ortaköy (which means “halfway town”—it’s halfway up the Bosphorous). The streets and plaza down by the water are chock-a-block with jewelry, antique, and clothing vendors. It’s sort of an artsy street market. Once I found Jess’s earrings, I decided to hop on the ferry cruise for an hour (costs a whopping $5). There’s something about water that absolutely captivates me. I snapped a few more photos of things I already have scores of photos of: the Egyptian Consulate, the Rumile Castle, the Bosphorous bridge… Then after the ride I lingered over one last Turkish breakfast for the year: tomatoes, cucumbers, olives, white cheese, egg, and bread.

The Egyptian Consulate under renovation along the Bosphorous

Ortakoy Offerings–every weekend all year

The other big event this week was the Koç School End-of-year Gala. Over 500 employees were transported in big tourist coaches to the Asian side of  the Bosphorous (our bus took nearly two hours), then we were ferried up to the Portaxe outdoor restaurant, where we enjoyed a lavish meal and dancing right there on the water.

Transport step 2: The ferry after a 2-hour bus ride

Approaching the second bridge…

Drinks and mezes awaited us at the waterside Portaxe Restaurant

The clouds that threatened rain were kind to us; the evening stayed dry and warm for the festivities. The crowd was a lively one, and the dancing great fun. Turks are sociable dancers; we all laughed as Hande and Ayşe exlained the lyrics of a song about discarding husbands and how many it takes to find the right one. Pretty funny. I was astonished to realize that it was 12:30 when we were herded onto to the ferries. Once on the busses, it was a mere 30-minute ride. What a difference!

Last night I finished off the year on campus by sharing a barbecue with friends. I’ll miss them, but I’m happy to be heading home again.

Well, I’ve finally visited the famous Gallipoli Peninsula. Lorna, David and I took a taxi to Sultanahmet early Saturday morning to meet the Feztour bus. No traffic at 6 A.M.! There were three others, all Aussies. You’ll see why.

A simitçi stopped at our service bus offering a sesame-encrusted breakfast.

We happened on a Circumcision Procession in a small town. Happy boys—for now!

It was a gorgeous drive down the Peninsula, and after lunch we visited numerous museums, graveyards, and monuments as our tour guide, Perihan, filled us in on the details of the Gallipoli campaign. Here’s what I learned:

During World War I, the Allies wanted an ice-free sea route to Russia, and the only available option was through the Dardanelles Strait, which runs from the Aegean Sea to the Marmara, then the Bosphorus Strait connects the Marmara with the Black Sea—and Russia (as well as Romania and Bulgaria). It was all controlled by the Turks (the Ottoman Empire).

The Gallipoli Peninsula

After a thwarted naval attack in February, 1915, the Allies decided that they couldn’t take the Dardanelles with naval power alone, so they began strategizing to take control of the entire Gallipoli Peninsula, dominating the Ottoman land forces. The British took on the campaign, enlisting Australian and New Zealand troops that had been training in Egypt (ANZAC: Australian and New Zealand Army Corps).

A Turkish man pauses at a rough statue outside the museum.

Hence began a bloody 8 ½  months on the Gallipoli Peninsula. The first attacks were made on April 25th, 1915, with the major focus (five landings) on Hellespont, the tip of the peninsula. There was another strategic point where the allies intended to land, straight across the peninsula from the narrows of the strait, with an intent to overtake the high point of the Peninsula (Hill 971, or Chunuk Bair). Unfortunately, as the ships waited through the night to land, they drifted 1½ miles north of their goal. Instead of landing on a smooth beach with low, rolling terrain, they landed on a beach with a high ridge beyond. This one mistake may have cost them this campaign, not to mention the many thousands of lives that were lost on both sides. (Allies: 43,000, Turks: 87,000—That’s over 500 killed per day in hand-to-hand combat for 8 ½ months.)
In the end, the Allies reatreated, pulling out their last soldiers on January 9, 1916.

The most significant thing to the Turks was, of course, that they retained control over the Dardanelles, hence shipping routes to Russia and Eastern Europe.

Our guide Perihan at a cemetery near Anzac Cove

Another significant thing was a young military commander, Mustafa Kemal, who “saved the day” so to speak, and later became the first ruler of the Turkish Republic (8 years later). Because the Turkish general thought the ANZAC landing was merely a feint and that the major attack would occur at the north end of the peninsula, most of the Turkish forces were posted there, leaving only a few smaller battalions to defend the central peninsula. Mustafa Kemal was put in charge of these battalions, and when he realized that thousands of ANZAC soldiers were climbing the bluffs above the beach, he set up a line of defense up in the hills. He established a headquarters on the third ridge, now known as “Kemal’s Hill”.

A monument to Mustafa Kemal (Ataturk) on “Kemal’s Hill” where he was wounded in battle.

Kemal’s order to his men is renowned among Turks: “I do not expect you to attack, I order you to die! In the time which passes until we die, other troops and commanders can take your place!”

Me at the Anzac Cemetery—facing the Aegean Sea

A grave from the “horseless” Light Horse Brigade that stormed Anzac Cove—age 25

The fighting at Gallipoli lasted over 8 months, well into the winter.

Lone Pine Cemetery, atop the highest hill.

One of many “maybe” markers–”Believed to be buried…”

I was particularly moved by this message on a monument near the ANZAC seaside graveyard:

“THOSE HEROES THAT SHED THEIR BLOOD AND LOST THEIR LIVES…
YOU ARE NOW LYING IN THE SOIL OF A FRIENDLY COUNTRY. THEREFORE REST IN PEACE.
THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE JOHNNIES AND THE MEHMETS TO US WHERE THEY LIE SIDE BY SIDE HERE IN THIS COUNTRY OF OURS…
YOU, THE MOTHERS, WHO SENT THEIR SONS FROM FAR AWAY COUNTRIES WIPE AWAY YOUR TEARS; YOUR SONS ARE NOW LYING IN OUR BOSOM AND ARE IN PEACE.
AFTER HAVING LOST THEIR LIVES ON THIS LAND THEY HAVE BECOME OUR SONS AS WELL.”
~ATATÜRK 1934

This is a huge monument, a touching quote—note Ataturk’s head at the upper left.

There are numerous tales of kindness on both sides of the battle lines: soldiers tossing cigarettes, candy, and food across the narrow expanse between the trenches. There are stories of Johnnies (Allied forces) giving water to dying Mehmets (Turks), and Mehmets carrying wounded Johnnies back to the Allied trenches. It’s hard to imagine crouching in narrow, muddy trenches hour after hour, day after day, week after week, starved and waiting for imminent death. Many of the thousands of bodies were never identified, although many mass graves were unearthed to identify and send remains back to their homelands. Some regiments were completely wiped out.

Mehmet carries a wounded Johnny

Every year on Anzak Day (April 25th) many thousands (particularly Aussies and Kiwis) visit the Gallipoli Peninsula to pay homage to those who gave their lives.

If you’re interested in seeing a map of the area, here are two links, one to an Ottoman map (with Ottoman writing) and the other to a satellite photo of the region.

Ottoman map of the Gallipoli Peninsula

An aerial view of the Gallipoli Peninsula

A statue of the oldest living Turkish Gallipoli soldier, who died at age 110.

We finished touring around 5:00, then hopped a ferry over to Çanakkale, where a Trojan horse guards the harbor. It’s not the original, but a very cool one from the 2004 movie Troy, starring Brad Pitt.

Trojan Horse, Çanakkale

We stayed at a lovely resort hotel on the beach, where the cicadas put up quite a ruckus until the evening temperatures cooled.

A cicada that was sojourning on our balcony–imagine 10,000 of them singing at once. ARAUGHHH!!!!!

An evening henna party and another wedding party next door provided live music for our listening pleasure. Really.

David wonders about summer Ottoman wear displayed in our hotel lobby.

There was one downside to our tour, though. Unbeknownst to us, our tour didn’t include return transportation to Istanbul (no WONDER it was such a good deal). We learned on Saturday that we’d have to find our own way back, which was a shock. They offered to include us on a tour of Troy and drive us back to Istanbul (for $60), but the return was very late, and we’d still have to get ourselves back to campus. Sigh… Both Lorna and David were great sports, and the Metro bus was fine. They even have stewards who serve tea and snacks. It took us over 7 hours to get back to Istanbul, nearly two to cross the city, and yet another to get back to campus. Sigh…

Oh, well. I got to Gallipoli, learned a lot, and saw a Trojan horse. Not bad.

Things are winding down here. Grades are done, tests are bundled for the Exam-collection-in-the-sky, and I’m cleaning out my desk before we face our last flurry of correcting the Lise Prep Exemption Exams. Meredith directed a VERY professional moderation session for us yesterday morning, but we have four more days of thumb-twiddling before the students take the exam. David’s reading, I’m writing, and Celine is writing e-mails. (We have the smallest office).

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Neil just popped his head in after delivering all his exams to what we call “The Dark Side” (admin is on that side of the building). It’s down three stories, across the building (about 150 yards) and up a story. We have no carts, so we roll desk chairs piled with packaged exams (luckily, we have an elevator). Neil announced that after humiliating himself rolling an exam-laden chair through the corridors to the other side, he realized that they’re then piled on a cart and rolled back over to be stored on this side of the building. Go figure.

Exams await delivery

David transports our bundled exams.

I have more interesting news, though.
Last Friday I went to the European side to check out an apartment the Robert College director sniffed out for me. I took a teacher service bus to Bebek (which means “baby”), where I hopped off to enjoy the most stunning Starbuck’s on the planet—or so I’ve heard. It’s located right on the Bosphorous, with upstairs windows overlooking the waterway and a downstairs patio right on the water. Oh, my! Does it get better than this?

Bebek Starbuck’s: The best in the world?

After the last few slurps of my frappucino, I moseyed along the water to Arnavutköy and Robert College. I was early, so I took my time climbing the hill to the school (sweat, sweat). Along the way I met former students who had heard I’m returning. What joy to feel appreciated. As I waited for Mr. Chandler outside the main building, more students and staff stopped to chat, again warming my path to yet another year of teaching.
The apartment is sweet, bright, and has a view overlooking the Bosphorous, and it’s only about a 5-minute walk to school. The only drawback is that it has no closets—none. Interesting. The school will furnish it for me, but I’m sure I’ll have to buy something to hang my clothes in. Maybe IKEA? Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

My new kitchen (photo: John Chandler)

View from my living room (photo: John Chandler)

That evening I hiked back up to Bebek to join a bunch of Robert College staff celebrating birthdays at TAPS, yet another venue on the Bosphorous. We sat at an upstairs bar-like table overlooking the water, boats skimming by as we sipped our drinks. Ah, does it get better? Well, read on.

View from Bebek TAPS—the Bosphorous

As the sky darkened, we walked the mile back to campus, where we congregated at Phil’s waterside apartment (in Yali) to chat, sip, and enjoy an INCREDIBLE bowl of homemade soup. Yup, it got better. Finally, I hiked up the steep hill with Gaby to her apartment, where I slept on her couch listening to night sounds and waking to yet another incredible view of the Bosphorous. Oh, my! Unfortunately, Gaby is leaving Robert, moving on to Bilkent University in Ankara to train teachers and to continue her turtle trips (see my blog from June 2008).
The next day we woke early, and I headed off to meet my friends David and Nia in Beşiktaş. We hopped a bus to Ortaköy, where we relaxed over breakfast at a water-side restaurant, then shopped the “artsy” street bazaar.

Catnaps at the Ortaköy bazaar

After that we headed to Sultanahmet to meet Dee and visit Musa’s rug studio. I bought two rugs, one for me and one for a friend, and David ordered one.

Musa’s early masterpieces

When we asked for a restaurant recommendation, Musa insisted that we share a BBQ on his 5th story balcony. We refused twice, but the third time was the charm. We were IN! When I protested that we would help buy the food, Musa scowled at me. “Ann Marie! You don’t know about Turkish Hospitality?” Yup, the weekend just kept getting better! Musa yelled to the produce man as he passed by the window, and I chopped veggies for a salad as he mixed the köfte (spiced meatballs).

Musa chooses veggies from the produce truck in the street outside his studio.

Everyone helped carry food and beverages up to the fifth floor, which was soon transformed from an empty balcony to a cozy restaurant. Amazing!
It took us a few hours to get home, but it was well worth the extra time we’d spent chatting, eating, sipping, and reveling in Musa’s incredible view overlooking the Marmara. Istanbul is all about water and views. Well, there’s a little history, too, I guess.

Musa’s fresh grilled köfte, shepherd’s salad, bread, cheese, watermelon, and wine.YUM!!!

Me cluttering up the stunning view from Musa’s terrace

At 8:00 we turned right back around; 21 of us hopped on service buses to the Arkat Restaurant in the Taş Han for dinner, a floor show, and dancing. The highlight of the evening was a phenomenally talented belly-dancer—a MAN! Our French teacher got up with him, and since Jacqueline can bellydance, she was a real hit. The down side was that the traffic was horrid, and it took us 2 ½ hours to get there (about 20 miles). We missed part of the show, but many of us made up for it by dancing, dancing, dancing.

Mr. Belly Dancer at the Arkat (photo: Andrea Ball)

Mr. Belly Dancer joins Jacqueline dancing after the show (photo: Andrea Ball)

Well, that’s it for my big weekend. Sunday I stayed home to recuperate. This weekend I’m headed to Gallipoli to learn about Turkey’s Gallipoli Campaign (which launched Turkey toward independence). More on that later…

I feel compelled to do a bit of ranting about grades. Hope you don’t mind.
Today is the sixth and last day of final exams here at Koç. The kids sit two exams a day, ranging from 40 to 80 minutes. Most students go into an exam knowing exactly what percentage they need to earn the final grade they seek. Weird, huh?

A few weeks before exams—Friday morning blues on the 3rd floor

Grades are the Be-All and End-All of the Turkish educational system. That and the Ö.S.S., the university entrance exam (but that’s another story). Actually, I find the grading system here both unfair and enabling. Hence, my rant:
First of all, 45% is a passing grade in Turkey (in the U.S. it’s 60%). Here’s the curve:

• 85 to 100%  is a 5, the top grade (no pluses or minuses, thank you)
• 70 to 84% is a 4
• 55 to 69% is a 3 (considered average)
• 45 to 54% is a 2 (still passing, but unimpressive)
• 25 to 44% is a 1, not passing
• 0 to 24% is a 0, a dismal failure

Each student has 1-3 oral grades (usually class work) and 2-3 written grades (exams) for each class in a semester, depending on how many times the class meets per week. The system for oral grades is determined individually by each teacher, while the written grades come from uniform common exams. For example, we have about 10 or 11 sections in each grade, and all those sections take exactly the same exams for each course they take. That’s to keep things equitable.

The kids arrived bleary-eyed today after a week of late nights studying.

The other thing we do to make grading fair is moderation—sometimes a struggle. Everyone on the English team grades the same 2 or 3 exams according to the rubric, then we compare the grades we gave. Next we discuss differences and figure out how to adapt our grading to an agreed-on norm. It’s hard. After hours of grading our own students’ papers, we have other teachers re-grade (moderate) some of them, particularly the highest and lowest ones. It’s VERY time-consuming, but it’s important in this culture where parents sue the school over grades. Really.

Few studied this morning, though other days they were more focused.

At least a few of the girls studied…

…as did a few in room 304.

Now, imagine a teacher who feels philosophically opposed to grading in the first place, and plunk her in a situation like this where life is all about grades. I’ve had to rethink my approach to education and move from my preferred  +, √, —  “evaluation system” and go back to a traditional 100-point system. ARAUGHH!!!!
Oh—but there’s MORE!

My own juniors (in another testing room), focused as usual (that’s Nisan waving.)

In the end, the student who squeaks out a low 4 with 70% gets the very same 4 as the student who earned 84%, fourteen percentage points higher. Enter: THE BEGGARS. Yes, folks. We have them. They’re well-intentioned, of course. “Oh, it was so close, can’t you just give me/him/her a few more points?” Grades are so important here that parents get into the act along with their kids. Not only is final exam time stressful, but it sets off a barrage of BEGGING! PLEADING! BARGAINING! (Gosh—I haven’t been offered a bribe yet. Hmmm…)

Hard at work on the history exam–one more to go!

Think that’s enough? Well, there’s even more, my friends. It’s the way the grades are averaged. Within a semester, grade percentages are averaged together to find a numeric percentage, which determines the semester grade. BUT—the two semester grades are averaged in a new and enabling way. If you get the same final grade both semesters, that’s all well and good. A 3 and a 3 average out to a 3. If you do better one term, though, the top grade rules. For instance, a 3 and a 2 make—not 2.5, but 3! (Remember, no pluses or minuses.) So, for instance, a student who finishes the first semester with a low 3 (55%) and does a bit of slacking off the second semester and barely squeaks out a 2 (45%) should have an average of 50%. Right? Well, that 50 magically becomes not a 2 (which it should be) but a 3, just the same as the student who earned 69% both terms for an overall average of 69%, a high 3. There’s nearly a 20% difference over the year for the same grade. Hmmm… Something’s wrong. It just doesn’t seem fair.

Saffet takes every exam seriously. He wants 5’s, and usually gets them.

I figured out that a student who fails with a low 1 first term (25%) and a low 2 the second term (45%) ends up with a passing grade of 2—with a mere 35%, ten percent below the (already low) passing grade of 45%. Such a deal for the low achiever!
And there’s MORE, my friends. If, after a dismal year a student is unhappy with his or her grade, there’s the option of taking a grade-changing exam during the summer. These exams are difficult, but for the intelligent but lazy student, they’re a godsend. I don’t even want to KNOW more about them.

They’re all focused—except Yunus. No surprise.

Zeynep just asked me, “Are you writing about grades in Turkey or grades at Koç?”
“Aren’t they the same?” I wondered.
“I think it’s worse at Koç,” she said. “There’s more pressure here.”
Point taken. Poor kids… No wonder they dragged themselves to school this morning with bleary eyes and collapsed into their desks. Six days of this would undo anyone.
If I sound biased, I am. I hate grades, and it breaks my heart that they’re so important in this country. I also hate it that the system is so unfair yet at the same time so enabling.
The flip side is that it’s been a joy to teach these kids. I love them, and somehow we slog through the grading mire together. We get through it, and my hope is that they learn something in the process.
I always thought education was more about learning anyway. Did I miss something?