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.

.
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…

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?

Yağiz, me, and Pinar

My juniors just finished a whirlwind poetry survey, and now we’re diving into a lengthy media unit—the businesses behind it, the advertising that promotes it, and the social propaganda that pervades it. This is a weighty and interesting unit, to say the least. We started with a PBS video called “Merchants of Cool,” which investigates the researchers behind marketing to teens, the group with more discretionary income than anyone else on the planet. Not only do they spend over 150 billion dollars a year (in America), but each teen filters over 3000 discrete advertising messages a day. EVERY day! Unbelievable.

So—I made it my mission to document how that translates here in Istanbul, this ancient, beautiful city. Actually, the real truth is that I needed an excuse to go into the city last Sunday. The sun was finally out after three weeks of clouds and rain, and the weatherman had promised a full day of sun. How could I resist? After a leisurely Turkish breakfast with a friend at the Marmara Café (egg, tomato, cucumber, cheese, olives, and bread), I headed out, camera at the ready.

Istiklal Caddesi, early Sunday under hanging decorations and Turkcell bugs

İstiklal Caddesi (Liberty/Independence Street) is a mile-long pedestrian street that may well be the busiest street in the city. It’s about 30 feet wide and paved in marble blocks, with a quaint red tram clanking up and down its center. Early on Sunday morning Istaklal is relatively quiet, but by noon it’s mobbed.

Decorations are strung overhead year-round, with both seasonal symbols and ads hanging from them. In past years red coke bottle cut-outs graced the skies (embarrassing to Americans), but now it’s the Turkcell logo—some kind of a cutesie little bug. In case you’re wondering, Turkcell is the major cell phone company here.
Everywhere I looked, I found ads: neon ads on storefronts, ads painted on metal roll-down doors, banners, billboards, and entire buildings covered with humongous ads—even over the windows!

Istiklal’s neon signs

a roll-down door ad

The full-building “billboard” ad

Everywhere I looked, there were ads, ads, ads. I took a bus to Ortaköy, a magical spot on the Bosphorus, and even the handles on the bus (for standing passengers) sport ads. Imagine!

…and even the “handles” on the bus!

While wandering the weekend arts market in Ortaköy, I came across a group of young men promoting Nescafe (something they love over here) with yard-long  pillow-like Nescafe envelopes. When I explained that I was taking photos for a media and advertising unit, they were happy to pose for me. AND—I came away with a pocketful of Nescafe Cappucino envelopes (little ones). Go figure!

A Nescafe Marketing ploy—cute guys!

I’m particularly intrigued with the contrast between the old and the new here; it’s no surprise that glitzy ads compete with the city’s historical sites. Photos say it best, I guess.

Turkcell bugs invade Ortaköy.

Can you find the Russian Orthodox Church behind the ads?

Unfortunately, the advertising here is mostly clutter—just visual noise—while the lines of Istanbul’s centuries-old buildings are striking and awe-inspiring. Gosh, which do you think will endure?

Last Saturday (damp) my friend Dee invited David, Andrea and me (all singles) to a VDS dinner (Valentine’s Day Sucks). Great food, delightful company, and a little too much wine. Oh, well…

In spite of a steady drizzle on Sunday morning, I decided to hop on the service bus to Taksim. It leaves bright and early, and believe me, I wasn’t all that bright so early. Since my only off-campus visits had been to malls (4 times) since my arrival, I needed a CF—a city fix.

A typical corner “convenience store” in Istanbul

There’s no traffic on Sunday mornings, so we got to Taksim in less than an hour. First I took the funicular down to Kabataş, then caught the tram to Sultanahmet (the old city). My goal was to visit my friends at the Harem 49 rug shop to share my amazing Mexico experience.

Here’s my tale:

When Susie and I visited Cozumel in January, we noticed a shop called Istanbul Carpets. Right. “What are the chances that anyone speaks Turkish in there?” I asked. Susie urged me to check it out, so I stepped inside and said, “Merhaba. Nasilsiniz?” (Hello. How are you?) Well, one of the two men sitting by the window jumped up and strode over to me, answering in Turkish, grinning warmly, and extending a hand for a handshake that became a hug, complete with cheek-kisses. Very Turish. We continued a short conversation in Turkish, which was about my limit (I’m not exactly fluent yet). To make a long story short, Engin, the shopowner, used to work for Hussein at Harem 49, my favorite Sultanahmet rug shop. Not only that, but his cousin Ümüt works there now. I mean, what are the chances of meeting a man in Mexico who knows the same people I know in Istanbul, a city of over 15 million? Amazing.

Engin and I pose in his Cozumel rug shop

After chatting with Ümüt over a cup of tea (admiring photos of his beautiful son), I headed off to do more exploring. I wandered my beloved cobblestone streets, snapped a few photos, then climbed to a rooftop restaurant to enjoy a cappuccino and warm my toes (not only was it wet, but damnably cold as well.)

After buying an evil-eye keychain for my new lojman (apartment) key, I hopped back on the tram toward Taksim. I still had three hours, but no point in pushing my luck. The drizzle had abated, so instead of taking the funicular back up the hill, I opted to hike up and pay my respects to the Galata Tower along the way. I ducked into a little restaurant for my first bowl of mercimek soup, my FAVORITE—a lentil soup beyond compare. They serve it with a mountain of white bread for a whopping 3 Turkish Lira ($2). I didn’t eat all the bread.

The famed Galata Tower

Ah, mercimek soup!

When I got back up to Istaklal, I still had plenty of time, so I decided to check out the new exhibit at the Pera Museum, a Koç family art museum. This museum is a class act, with rotating exhibits on the top two floors and permanent exhibits of Turkish art and ceramics on the lower floors. The featured exhibit was a collection of impressive storyboard paintings by Japanese filmmaker Akiro Kurosawa, but I was most taken with the Turkish artwork this time. Maybe because I’m so happy to be back.

Now that I know the city well from working on a guidebook of historical walking tours, I actually feel like I’m stepping back in time when I see these centuries-old paintings. I’m fascinated with what the seaside and city once looked lik

Stepping back in time through Ottoman art at the Pera Museum

My favorite painting is a mere century old: the “Tortoise Trainer,” probably the most famous (and valuable) painting in Turkey ($3.5 million).

It was painted by Osman Hamdi Bey, an amazing man who was not only an accomplished painter but also an archeologist. He established the Istanbul Archeological Museum, no small task. I’ve read that this painting depicts Osman Hamdi Bey’s frustration with getting the Ottoman rulers to change with the times. The implication is that it’s like training tortoises with a flute, and tortoises have very poor hearing. Interesting analogy, huh?

The Tortoise Trainer, by Osman Hamdi Bey

Even the elevators at the Pera are painted!

A quick hello to the ceramics display, then off…

Finally, a trek through the rain to the service bus, provided at no cost by the school. Lucky us.

So—there’s my rainy Sunday in Istanbul. Here’s to sunny days ahead!

Goodbye Libby, Erin, Matthew, and Mitzy!

Goodbye, snowshoes (and snow)!

I just arrived at the Koç School campus on Saturday—a drizzly, sopping afternoon. I was detained FAR too long at customs (an expired residence permit necessitated much discussion among the police and a hunt for the official stamp to CANCEL it). I was greatly relieved to find that my driver had waited the extra half hour for me. I dozed through most of the hour-long drive to campus, waking for a few moments just as we crossed the Bosphorus. It’s always a joy to gaze up and down that incredible waterway and marvel at the the Rumile Castle just beneath the bridge. Ah, Istanbul!

After settling into my lojman, a cozy little two- bedroom just like I had before, the sun peeked out. Hooray! I tried to shake myself awake with a walk around campus (about 3K). Things are pretty green here, with iris shoots pushing up and rosebushes leafing out. Everything looked pretty much the same as before, except for a recent addition to the high school. As I continued around toward the elementary, though, I wondered about the huge wooden structure looming ahead. My goodness—A HORSE! I kid you not. There’s a monstrous Trojan horse planted on the elementary playground overlooking the tennis courts. It has a wooden mane and tail, and its body is a vast room with barred windows (apparently to prevent accidental falls), easily large enough to hide a hundred soldiers.

The HORSE by moonlight

I assume you realize that Troy is located in Turkey, southwest of Istanbul where the Aegean Sea meets the Dardanelles Strait. I haven’t been there yet, but it’s on my list. Previously thought to be a mythical city, Troy first appeared in Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey (these works date somewhere between 600 and 900 B.C.). You know, Helen of Troy and Odysseus and all that? Well, the actual remains of 4,000-year-old Troy were discovered in the 19th century, and many of its treasures now reside in Russia and Germany. Yes, my friends, Troy is right here in Turkey. AND—on the Koç campus.

The HORSE by day

I’m not sure who masterminded this structure, but I understand it’s been rather controversial. Can’t imagine why! They had to install lights and a closed-circuit camera in the beast’s belly to prevent untoward evening dalliances by students living on campus. Maybe teachers, too, huh? Who knows?

I can’t help but chuckle as I think of the shenanigans that may have ensued before the camera was installed. Here in Turkey we tend to react to situations in a knee-jerk fashion, so I assume there was some impetus for the expense of a surveillance camera. Ah, Istanbul!

Big Brother is watching you—Troy or 1984?

There’s one more notable change here at Koç. We have security systems for every lojman (apartment) with a blinking red light above the door. Apparently in spite of our much-appreciated 24/7 guards cruising campus, someone discovered a prowler in their house one night. We’ve been warned to keep all our doors locked, there are new motion sensors on the chain-link fence that surrounds the campus, and every lojman has an alarm system, complete with a blinking red light over the front door.

Our added security…

I haven’t done too much walking yet, as it’s been raining most of the week. My friend Ileyn joked that she expects to see pairs of animals queuing up on a nearby hillside. Did you know, by the way, that Turkey is also where Noah supposedly built the ark? Mount Ararat is in Eastern Turkey, and I hear that’s the place. Check your National Geographic archives. I just hope this rain doesn’t continue another 35 days and 35 nights. I mean, enough is enough!

I’ve noticed a few other changes here, too, thanks to our new high school director, Koray Özsaraç. He’s improved the climate of the school: the kids are in uniform, the teachers seem happier, and the halls are quieter. He’s also put an end to students butting in the lunch lines (though I’m still waiting for the day that teachers get to step ahead of the kids).

Well, it’s good to be back with people I know and love. My classes are rolling along, and I look forward to my first trip into the city this weekend. Ah, Istanbul!

I caught a school service bus to the Asian side of the Bosphorus (only 45 minutes), then hopped on the train to Pendik (another 45, including the wait). I walked four blocks up to the bus “station,” where I was the first to board the next blue mini-bus. Another 20 minute wait, and I was on the 40-minute ride to the Koç School. It had taken me 2 ½ hours from Robert College to the Koç School, record time for afternoon rush hour. Lucky me!

As I checked in at the gate, familiar smiles greeted me, eager for news of my life since Koç. In my limited Turkish I managed a short account before starting the trek across campus to the Paulus’ house.

The guards’ warm welcome brightened my walk along the familiar sidewalks and lawns—nostalgia hit as I cut through the student commons, a huge glass pyramid that joins the major wings of the high school. On my way through, I noticed a poster for Brooks Williams, the headliner for the school’s upcoming talent show. Hmmm…

Brooks beams at his audience.

Marnie and Tony welcomed me with warm hugs and introduced me to their friend Brooks Williams. In the flesh. He’s actually just a regular guy, though I was soon to learn an incredibly talented one. Brooks was the featured event for the evening of backyard music. The Pauluses have known him for years, and he interrupted a musical tour of England to buzz down and join them in Istanbul for a week. An accomplished acoustic guitarist and folk singer, his music is reminiscent of Leo Kotke or John Fahey—my favorites—and he’s that good, too. (Check him out at http://www.myspace.com/redguitarbluemusic .)

The Koç School’s two Davids enjoy Brooks’ folk strumming.

I basked in the warmth of good friends at Koç—about 20 or 30 teachers, staff, administrators, and their lovely children. We were wined and dined with an impressive spread of fabulous mezes (Turkish hors d’oeuvres), then congregated outdoors for music. Ahhhh…Music!

The perfect way for folks to enjoy guitar…

Brooks awed us with both voice and guitar for nearly an hour as the sun sank over the hills of Istanbul, then two local musicians, Tolga and Erdem, took center stage with Turkish folk music. They demonstrated some fascinating percussive techniques, which were great fun. Then, of course, the three guitarists joined together for a jam session, a delightful finale to the evening—which ended far too soon for my tastes.

Tolga and Erdam “strut their stuff”.

The next night brought more live music, this time on my side of the Bosphorus for dinner and jazz. I arrived at Eminönü about an hour early (you never know how long a trip will take with Istanbul traffic), so I headed for the Rustem Paşa Mosque (a favorite spot) to relax in the breezy shade of its second-story courtyard. Lo and behold, who should walk in but Tony, Marnie, Brooks, and Mesure (a Turkish friend from Koç), also early arrivals to the city. Speaks to the charm of the Rustem Paşa, doesn’t it?

The outdoor prayer terrace at Rustem Paşa Mosque

Rustem Paşa interior: a man at prayer

After enjoying the mosque, Mesure treated us to a delicious array of culinary delights at the Hamdi Restaurant (a traditional favorite), then after dinner Brooks and I worked off a bit of our dinner with a trek across the Golden Horn and up the cobbled lanes to Nardis, a night club just below the Galata Tower, where we met others for an evening of jazz (and, of course, rakı—a traditional Turkish drink).

The Nardis was great, but how can you beat the intimacy of good friends at a backyard concert? It just can’t be done, not even in Istanbul.

Yup! Great tunes!

And—tonight I’m going to a Jethro Tull concert. Imagine that!

Well, I didn’t know Şakır Güner. He’s one in a million, and he’s made every single person on campus feel appreciated and important. “Benim genc arkadasim” he calls me, and I call him the same (gench arkadashEEM= my young friend). We’re both retiring this year. Need I say more? Şakır Bey is friendly, professional, and efficient. He takes care of everyone without imposing himself, and he’s always ready for a game of backgammon (tavla) with anyone who has time to spare. My friend Sue is coming for her second visit, and her first question was whether she’d get to see Şakır Bey again. That’s how wonderful he is. Unfortunately, he’ll be retired when she arrives.

I regret to admit that we leave Şakır Bey sitting alone in the social center too many nights. He’s there five nights a week from 5:00 to 10:00, and we just can’t get down there every night. When I do go down for a beer, we chat in my limited Turkish and his limited English, teaching each other as our conversation progresses. It’s a real treat for both of us. Our favorite topic of conversation is retirement. I’m going back to my wilderness home in Grand Marais, and he plans to travel with his lovely wife, Meliha. They’ve purchased a summer home on the Black Sea, but their first travel excursion will be to the beautiful city of Antalya on the Mediterranean coast in July. His eyes glow as he speaks of it.

Back to the social center We just had what might have been the best event yet: last Sunday three very talented actors presented a production of The Love List, a hilarious Neil-Simon-like play by Canadian playwright Norm Foster. Take three gifted actors —Larry Bent, Dan Kapp, and Lisa Kapp—a snappy, intelligent script and mix them with an appreciative well-fed audience, and you’ve got a hit! The play is about a 50-year-old man who puts together a 10-point list for a dating service, then faces the reality of his choices. It’s great!

(Especially in this era of computer dating, it’s pretty on target). You have to see it to find out about item number four (which I’ll leave to your imagination). I recommend it highly to our community theater for future production. At any rate, we thoroughly enjoyed our evening, many of us laughing until tears streamed from our eyes. I call that a successful event.

We’ve had other enjoyable events at the social center: a wine-tasting party (also organized by the Kapps), a Halloween party, numerous game nights, a Thanksgiving Dinner, a Christmas dinner, and a weekly gathering for baked potatoes and fixings—the famed Potato Night. It’s been a great way to get an easy meal, to connect with friends, and to just get out of the lojman for a while.

Gotta love that social center—and especially Şakır Bey!

(play photos by Tony Paulus)

The Pink Unicorn Cakes:

The party was a sweet way to spend Mother’s Day. Serge (the dad) and I delivered the cakes before the children arrived, and I have to admit, I was unprepared for the difference between little boy parties (chaos) and little girl parties (cooperation). I was soon surrounded by princesses, mostly in pink. In fact, as I went through my photos, the overriding theme was clearly pinkness! Pink tablecloths, pink party hats, pink plates and napkins, pink cakes, and of course, pink dresses. Pink, pink, pink. (Faith, though, arrived in a traditional lavender Vietnamese costume, very princess-like.)

Lovely maidens: Carmen, Katrina, Faith, and Sarah:

And the Charming Birthday Girls:

Sue and Serge had planned the classic party, complete with musical chairs and pin the crown on the unicorn (a pink one). The children were darling as they skipped around the one-too-few chairs, and as each was left out, they were cheered and given a small candy bar. No problems with sportsmanship there!

Musical Chairs a la Children:

The children decided to run a musical chairs game for the adults, too, which was interesting. Everyone had a blast, but you have to understand that when adults play games, there’s an element of competition involved. We laughed derisively instead of cheering as each person was left out (I was the first), and things went fairly smoothly except for a few lapses in manners.

And…the Adult Version:

At the end of the game, however, one player pulled a fast one (actually, pulled the last chair out from under his opponent). Oops! Little error in judgment. Luckily, nursery chairs are low to the ground.

Soon Sue gathered the children around the display board for a game of Stick the Crown on the Unicorn (pink, of course). They were wonderful sports, watching each contestant as he or she strove to find the unicorn’s head. Katrina came the closest, but of course, EVERYBODY won.

Next came food, blowing out birthday candles, presents, and time on the playground. What a joy it was to share this exciting, sweet event.
(Libby would have loved it, but she wasn’t invited. She doesn’t do pink.)

A lojman balcony sunset:

What do I like? Well, though my lojman is nowhere near as large as my home in Minnesota, the two bedrooms are very comfortable (I use the small one as an office), the storage space is more than adequate, the living room is bright and cheery, and the kitchen and bath facilities are fine. I got busy decorating immediately, though, to bring my lojman from serviceable to friendly. I found some posters and frames at Ikea, then scrounged for picture hangers at a hardware store, and within weeks my new home was not only comfortable but attractive as well. Add a few candles and a fan (it’s HOT here in August), and it was delightful. It doesn’t take long to amass Turkish brick-a-brack (and rugs) to make your lojman a home.

My lojman–living room, kitchen, and bedrooms…

The family lojmans are more than twice the size of the singles, with three bedrooms, two baths, a huge living room, a dining room, and a kitchen (as well as an upstairs balcony). Some of them even have a sunken living room—very cool!

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I was surprised to learn that we also have a social center in our little campus living complex—complete with a bartender five nights a week. The social center is open every night (it’s used for preschool classes on weekdays), and we often have social gatherings there: movie nights, game nights, baked potato night (a weekly potluck affair), and special events like music performances, wine tasting, and holiday gatherings. It’s a great way to connect with people, and on Wednesdays drinks are half price. Such a deal!

Game night at the Social Center:

(Don’t lose sleep anticipating the joys of Turkish wine. You’ll be disappointed.) By the way, the people here are delightful. Reach out to build friendships, and you’re sure to enjoy yourself.

Christmas Party at the Social Center–Mollie and company!

One challenge is that the campus is very isolated. There’s no place you can walk to for groceries or dinner or even coffee. Everything is too far, and the road is WAY too dangerous to walk or bike on. (The driving here is scary.) I’d had visions of biking to the Marmara (which is only 5K away—impossible ).

The Security Gate–you’re well protected!

The good side of the isolation issue is that Ilyen, our saintly liason, sets up service busses to get us off campus many times a week. There are grocery trips during the week, and on weekends there’s a street market bus, a Friday bus to the movies (or to do whatever you choose in the area of the city you visit), a Saturday bus into the city, and a Sunday church bus into Taksim. The options are varied, and if you took advantage of every service bus, you would seldom be on campus.

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If you choose to trek out on your own (which you will), public transportation will get you there, but it takes forever. A trip on public transport to the city entails:
1. a 10-minute walk to the road (through the security gate)
2. a 40-minute mini-bus ride to Pendik (after as much as a 20-minute wait)
3. a 35-minute train ride to Kadikoy, the end of the Asian side (after another wait)
4. a 30-minute ferry ride to the European side (after yet another wait)
5. a tram ride up to Sultanahmet or the Grand Bazaar or Taksim or wherever you choose.
In other words, you have to plan about 3 hours to get to or from town on your own. Of course, a taxi is an option if you’re feeling rich.

Istanbul ferries–you’ll love them!

We do have a nearby airport (Sabiha Gokcen), which has many bargain fares to places like Germany and London and all over Turkey (which you’ll want to explore). The ugly side of that is that Koc is in the flight path. The first night I thought my life was over when a plane skimmed the top of my lojman. I’ve gotten used to it, and I appreciate the convenience of Sabiha flights.

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Our saintly Ileyn is here to help with any problem that may arise, from medical emergencies to water delivery. Oh, yes. The tap water is pretty bad, so you buy huge 19-liter bottles for drinking water. My friend Terri even uses it for her pets. I’m not that nice. Libby gets tap water.

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Many of us walk the 3-K loop around campus every day, which I must admit gets old if you don’t have a walking buddy, and there’s now a fitness center in the new Student Social Center by the high school. Hopes spring eternal for a pool in the future. Hmmm…
Gosh–what else? If you have questions, feel free to email me: amershon@boreal.org. I’d be happy to answer whatever I can.

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I have to say, I’ve loved my time at Koc. As you know, nothing’s perfect, but this has been a wonderful adventure. I’ll leave still loving it. That’s a good thing.