Galatasaray

There are three main soccer teams in Istanbul: Galatasaray, Fenerbahçe, and Beşiktaş. They all have fierce rivalries and literally everyone who lives in Istanbul is a zealous fan of one of these teams. Our program assistant, Alican, lives in Istanbul and is a Galatasaray fan, so he took us to a Galatasaray game on Saturday night. When we met up with him, Alican was decked out in Galatasaray gear: jersey, vest, scarf, and sweater. I thought it was a little over the top until I saw that almost every other fan was dressed the same.

Alican met us in our dorm and helped us navigate the city’s convoluted public transit system to get to the stadium. Galatasaray’s colors are red and yellow, so the fans stand out in a crowd of ordinary dressed Turks (the clothing style is pretty conservative here—almost exclusively dark colors and certainly no reds or yellows). On each leg of our journey a few more Galatasaray fans would join us until by the last metro stop the hub was a sea of red and yellow.

Alican used to work in the media industry for 12 years and still has lots of connections. Before the game he was able to get us an interview on Galatasaray TV (yes, the teams has its own television channel). So if you happen to be watching Galatasary TV and see some clueless Americans trying to answer questions about the soccer scene in Turkey, that’s us. The final question the interviewer asked us was “soccer fans in Turkey are very rowdy; are you guys going to be this restrained the whole game?” He was right about the rowdy fans.

The game itself was a great experience. I have played soccer since I was five, but I had never been to a professional game before so it was a dream-come-true to be in that stadium watching world-class players. For those of you who know anything about soccer, Didier Drogba, who used to be one of the best forwards in the world (he’s 35 now—old by professional soccer standards), plays for Galatasaray.

Galatasaray pulled off a 2-0 victory, so the fans were elated. (I’d hate to see what they are like when they lose). Soccer is literally a religion here, and you do not want to be on the wrong side of the arguments that often ensue. It can actually be dangerous to wear a soccer jersey incase you come across a fan of the rival team who’s looking to pick a fight—or worse, a whole group of them.

There was only one scary moment during the whole soccer game experience: we were walking in the subway station when suddenly there was an earsplitting bang that was certainly loud enough to be a gun shot. Turns out it was just a couple of idiots setting off fireworks underground. Other than that, there were plenty of loud, rowdy fans, but nothing threatening. 

View of the stadium

View from the stadium

Milk and Cookies

Do you want the good news or the bad news first?

Okay, here’s the bad news: Turkey’s artificial flavors are simply not up to par with America’s.

I came to this startling conclusion after discovering that the strawberry milk here is… well, frankly it sucks. I have a weakness for strawberry milk, so when I saw some at the grocery store I was overjoyed that the flavored milk phenomenon had spread to Turkey. Imagine my disappointment when I took a sip and it tasted nothing like strawberries!

I’m not naïve enough to think that strawberry milk is made from actual strawberries, but after a home experiment of sorts last year, I concluded that American strawberry milk does in fact taste like strawberries blended in milk (oh yeah, you also have to add a lot of sugar).

Anyway, back to the issue at hand. I assumed that Turkey simply hadn’t caught on to the whole artificial strawberry flavor craze, and so stores were justified in selling mediocre strawberry milk. Little did I know, this artificial flavor issue transcends the lactose industry and even infects the cookie business!

First I tried some strawberry-flavored wafer cookies. They tasted just as weird as the milk. So I figured it was simply an issue with the strawberry flavoring they use here in Turkey. Then I tried some chocolate cookies, and to my dismay they tasted very little like chocolate. As if it could get any worse after the strawberry milk…

Well, I learned my lesson and I now try to avoid fake strawberry and fake chocolate flavoring. I’m sure you’re feeling very bad for me at this point, so are you ready for the good news?

Well, here it is: cookies are incredibly cheap in Turkey.

They mostly sell cookies in sleeves, and each sleeve only costs between .50TL and 1TL ($0.30-$.60!). How big are these sleeves you wonder? The perfect size: just big enough to make me feel sufficiently terrible about myself for finishing a whole pack (each sleeve has at least 500 calories). Fortunately, the nutrition labels here say “Energy” instead of “Calories,” so that means the cookies are good for me, right?

What’s even better is that there is so much cookie diversity. There are tons of different flavors, textures, shapes, styles, and ingredients. My current favorite is called “Albeni” and is basically a knock-off of Samoas, my favorite Girl Scout Cookie.

I would have posted a picture of an unopened pack, but they never make it back to my room in that state. 

So, on the whole, I can’t be too upset with the artificial flavor thing. I suppose I will just have to stoop to the level of eating real strawberries and chocolate.

America in Istanbul

Last Thursday, I went with my friend Nick to do a little shopping in the Old City area (the section of Istanbul with the Grand Bazaar, Blue Mosque, Hagia Sofia, and other popular tourist destinations). Both of us felt like we didn’t bring enough clothes to Istanbul, so we were determined to find a cheap new wardrobe.

There are a few ways to get to the Old City from where we live. We were concerned about traffic, so we chose the route that involves a pretty good amount of walking. We took a bus and the metro to Taksim—an area littered with shops, restaurants, bars, and clubs—and then set out on foot.

We checked out a few stores around Taksim, but didn’t find anything too interesting—that is, until we stumbled upon a huge mall (six floors!) that claimed to house a Krispy Kreme. Krispy Kreme glazed donuts are one of my favorite things in the whole world (as long as I don’t think about their nutritional value). There isn't a Krispy Kreme near me at home, so I rarely get to treat myself. It was just as good as I remembered.

After getting mildly lost and skirting through some pretty sketchy side streets, Nick and I found our way to some cheap clothes shops. As you would expect from any self-respectable group of street salesmen, there were plenty of good knockoffs of expensive American brands; I purchased a nice Ralph Lauren sweater for 15 TL (about $8).

My haul for the day was one soccer jersey, a button-down, and three sweaters. What was the one thing I had said I didn’t need any more of? Sweaters. So, successful shopping trip? Definitely. Did I get anything I actually needed? Not even kind of—my goal was to find a few t-shirts, a pair of shoes, and some pants.

On our way back to the metro, Nick and I saw a crowd of people gathered around a street corner. As we got closer, we saw two Native Americans dressed in full traditional outfits (or at least the stereotypical garb) playing flutes and dancing. It seemed so out of place in the middle of an urban, Middle Eastern environment, especially with a mosque right across the street. I didn’t know what to make of it.

We continued on our way, and since Nick and I were both hungry from a long day of walking we scanned the area for a restaurant that looked good, yet affordable. We passed up a few very questionable-looking köfte (Turkish meatball) places. Then we both saw Pizza Hut and decided we couldn’t resist—neither of us had had a real pizza since we came here. It was a weak moment, but the pizza tasted so good.

After getting home I was thinking over my day. It occurred to me that I’m in Istanbul, yet the four highlights of my day were Krispy Kreme, Ralph Lauren, Native Americans, and Pizza Hut—there is definitely something wrong with that. But the more I thought about it, I realized that it was just comforting to have a taste of home. As much as I love living here, it’s not easy being away from your own culture for so long. Every now and then you just need a good ol’ fashioned American experience.

Maybe next time I should try to attain that from something besides Pizza Hut and Krispy Kreme. At least for my arteries’ sakes.

To Asia and Back

To Asia and Back

During the third week in February, Travis McGrath, my lifelong friend and childhood neighbor, decided to take some time off work and fly to Turkey for a week. He landed in Istanbul just as I got back from my weeklong excursion. The day after he arrived we met up near Taksim Square—an area famous for its nightlife scene—and walked down to the Golden Horn (an inlet that runs alongside the Old City) to catch a ferry up the Bosphorus.

If you ever come to Istanbul, I would highly recommend taking a Bosphorus ferry ride. The boat travels partway up the Bosphorus and then returns to the Old City, while making multiple stops on both the European side and the Asian side (one of the unique features of Istanbul is that it spans two continents as the Bosphorus is the dividing line between Europe and Asia). In addition, you get an excellent view of the city while enjoying the sea breeze and a nice cup of Turkish tea. 

Around lunchtime, our ferry made a 3-hour stop in Anadoluhisarı, a port on the Asian side famous for the fortress that towers above the dock and neighboring village. (Anadoluhisarı is the name of the fortress, but also of the surrounding section of the city). Even though Anadoluhisarı is part Istanbul, it is nestled between some very large hills, and thus has the feel of a remote Mediterranean village. Trinket shops and fish restaurants pepper the immediate area around the dock, but if you start making your way up the hill (towards the fortress), the village thins out and becomes more residential, with some houses, schools, and mosques.

Before grabbing lunch, the four of us (Travis, his travel companion Larissa, my friend Julia from my program, and I) started the steep trek up to the Anadolu Fortress. After about a 20-minute hike we found our way to the top of the hill, which plateaus and has some wonderful views of the Bosphorus and surrounding city. Unfortunately, we weren’t allowed to go inside the fortress, but it was still well worth the climb up there.

After snapping some pictures and lolling about on some very questionable wooden swings, we walked back down to the dock and treated ourselves to some fresh mackerel, fried mussels, and ice cream cones. We spent our remaining hour sipping some tea in a café overlooking the water, before getting back on the ferry.

Overall, I had a lovely afternoon and it was a great treat to share that time with such a close friend from home. 

21

Friday was my 21st birthday. 

The kids on my program surprised me by showing up at my dorm room with balloons, ice cream, and strawberry milk (three of my all-time favorite things) at the exact moment I turned 21. As if that wasn’t enough, they took me out to dinner at some swanky restaurant overlooking the Bosphorus and we finished off the night by going to one of the nicest clubs in Istanbul (entrance was free that night—the club manager must have heard it was my birthday). It was an excellent beginning to my 22nd year, and I give full credit to the wonderful friends I’ve made on this program.

It’s interesting turning 21 in a country where that age has no particular significance. The novelty of being 21 certainly hasn’t hit me, and I don’t think it will until I get back to the States. Being 21 does provide a nice sense of liberty though—no longer will my age inhibit my freedom. I realized, however, that the only two freedoms I knew I had just gained were drinking alcohol and gambling in Las Vegas. That didn’t sound like a healthy lifestyle, so I decided to look up the other freedoms I acquired. Here are the results:

1. I can adopt a child (mom, I know you want a grandchild, but I think I’m going to hold off on the whole adoption thing at least until I get back from Turkey).

2. I can supervise a learning driver (I think alcohol and gambling would be safer options).

3. I can buy a house without a co-signer (do you think they’ll accept student loans as payment?).

That’s about it. So, to sum up—I can drink, gamble, adopt a child, get in a car with someone who doesn’t know how to drive, and buy a house without anyone to fall back on. My conclusion: I now have the freedom to make bad choices.

Well, okay, the whole adoption thing is pretty cool, but I’m not ready for that yet. And I guess buying a house will come in handy some day. But for the moment, the United States government has just granted me permission to make questionable life decisions. Hooray?

Kilos, not Pounds

Every Saturday, Hisarüstü (the section of Istanbul I live in) hosts an open-air market. Most of the vendors perch their stations at the top of a steep cobblestone path that runs down to the Bosphorus. Like many farmers’ markets in America, this market offered everything from fresh fruits and vegetables to salted meats and fish.

Walking between the stalls I picked up on the familiar pungencies of strawberries, tomatoes, and squash, which reminded me of summertime in the States. There was also a nice hint of citrus that helped level out the musky scent of goat cheese and fish. To compliment the aromas, there was a bevy of bright shades and hues; the stark white cheeses, the ruby red tomatoes, the fiery oranges, the deep plum of the eggplants, and the yellow sheen from the lemons all pooled in a heady medley of color.

I had to use exceptional self-restraint to not buy everything in sight: the dried apricots were calling out to me on one side, but across the street those cute little bananas were giving me the puppy dog eyes. I went with the bananas.

Turkish bananas are a little smaller than the Chiquita bananas that populate grocery stores in the U.S., so I figured I would get a bunch to carry around with me as light snacks during school days. I scanned the signs for the cheapest price, went up to the vendor, and in mangled Turkish, asked for two kilos of bananas. I knew going into this whole thing that 1 kilo is equivalent to 2.2 pounds. What I didn’t realize was just how many damn bananas are in 2.2 pounds. A kilo of bananas was only 3 TL (a little less than $2), so ordering three and half dollars worth of bananas seemed reasonable at the time. I rethought the whole "reasonable" thing after being handed 4 dozen bananas.  

Next stop was the cheese vendor. He gave me a bunch of samples, and I was particularly partial to the fresh mozzarella, so I decided to order a quarter kilo, trying to avoid making the banana mistake again. Of course, I didn’t actually know how to order a quarter of something in Turkish. But I did know the word for half, so in my optimistic reasoning, I thought that by saying “half half kilo,” I would walk away with a quarter. The cheese guy wasn’t quite on the same page. “Half half kilo” to him meant two half kilos, AKA one kilo. Only after he had neatly wrapped up these two halves in nice packaging did I realize my mistake. I didn’t have the heart or the language skills to say that I wanted less, so I paid him and walked away kicking myself.

I then strut up to the guy selling oranges, determined to come away with a reasonable portion of food this time. I ordered half a kilo of oranges, he weighed a few out, and handed me a perfect amount. I was so satisfied with my success that I unthinkingly set the oranges on the ground in order to reach for my wallet. Remember how I said the market was perched on top of a really steep hill? Yeah, well apparently oranges, being quite spherical and all, have a tendency to obey the Law of Gravity. Who knew? Eventually I was able to recover all of my oranges; my dignity, though, is another story.

And so sums up my adventure at the market. Lessons I’ve learned:

1. Eating 48 Turkish bananas before they rot means eating 7 bananas a day.
2. Eating 7 bananas a day is not a healthy lifestyle. Nor is it an enjoyable one, it turns out.
3. Despite a truly gallant attempt, it is not possible to finish two pounds of cheese in one sitting.
4. Round things like to roll down hills.