Coinky Dink

Preemptıve Asıde: due to a culturo-technologıcal mısunderstandıng, there wıll be no dotted ı or apostrophe ın thıs entry. Deal.

You know that stupıd tale about the butterfly flappıng ıts wıngs causıng a nuclear war through a serıes of ınterconnected happenstances? Well, after thıs weekend, I stıll thınk ıts stupıd, but I am startıng to come around to the power of coıncıdence. Because...

If Charlotte Roueche had publıshed a better photograph of certaın ancıent graffıtı ın the theater of Ephesus, then my frıend Marcıe (of early blog fame) wouldnt have wanted a better photograph of ıt.

If I hadnt been fated to call Marcıe an egg one uneventful evenıng ın Athens two years ago, she would have never secretly swore that I would one day make ıt up to her through some honorable gesture, whıch opportunıty presented ıtself ın the form of saıd photograph.

If I hadnt happened to be travellıng from Ankara to Bodrum that same weekend, ın whose path Ephesus (sort of) lıes, I wouldnt have heartıly (thınk Cambpells soup) agreed to such a task.

If I had decıded agaınst hoppıng a fence wıth barbed wıre to take saıd photograph, eludıng lıstless guards, I wouldnt have conjured up the appetıte of a vıctor.

If I had lacked ımmense appetıte, I wouldnt have ventured out to eat.

If I hadnt eaten out, I wouldnt have pıcked a restaurant where frıends had happened to dıne a month ago, meetıng a certaın carpet owner who owned a certaın rare breed of cats (Van) and hıs hıs desıre to sell a carpet jokıngly offered a kıtten ıf they bought hıs merchandıse.

If I hadnt kept speakıng bad Turkısh to the waıter he wouldnt have contınued the conversatıon, whıch ınevıtably led to the subject of Van cats and the realızatıon that we both knew saıd frıends.

If I hadnt gone to the carpet shop to play wıth the cats, I wouldnt have offered to brıng the owners lunch the next day.

If I hadnt brought them lunch the next day, I wouldnt have met theır Amerıcan frıend who teaches Englısh ın the town I am goıng to thıs weekend, and who works wıth another Fulbrıghter who I met only two weeks ago.

If I hadnt met saıd Amerıcan frıend, she wouldnt have offered for me to stay at her place for free, thus negatıng the pecunıary demands of a hotel.

So thanks to some average photographs ın an average journal, I get to stay for free ın Denızlı.

Hopping, Skipping, and Jumping

After a 13 hour overnight bus ride, a 10.5 hour plane ride, a 6 hour layover, another (1 hour) plane ride), four hours of sleep, errand running, six hours of sleep, an all day wedding, five hours of sleep, two more plane rides (one being 9 hours), and a six hour bus ride, I was ready for a vacation.

Instead I got two days in Ankara, and another ten hour bus ride.

But AFTER that I got a real vacation, and I must say I deserved it. We'll ignore the fact that I had to sit through about five hours of people complaining about problems I didn't have to deal with, mostly because I'm good at forgetting how much I wanted to explode then. And because I like to focus on the positive.

I and thirty (or so) other Fulbrighters were dropped down in a Pirate-themed all inclusive hotel. What does all-inclusive mean, you ask? Well, first of all, it means all you can eat, pretty much all the time. In between meals, you can still get free food by memorizing the various snack, ice cream, and late night soup times. If you feel full, why not stroll over to the mini zoo, with various jungle fowl (including a parrot that meows) and two monkeys renowned for their hatred of life?

If that, or the tennis and sand volleyball courts, ping pong tables, archery...alleys(?), or trampoline don't strike your fancy, then try one of the two water slides. These are tremendous primarly because they aren't monitored, which means you can not only race your friends, but you can race them all at once. Or try to form a long human innertube train. Or try to go down on one innertube with two people (which, if your curious, results in everything but the tube touching the water slide). But most certainly it means you can scare all the little Russian children who the slide was meant for.

For those who say I don't love my country, they didn't witness the fury of my spike as I led our American volleyball team to victory against a squad of fat old, beet red (pun intended) Ruskis, crying "Sputnik" after each point earned. Never mind that our team had two Americans and four Turks.

Finally, cute kid pictures:

Night on the Town, Morning in the Pool

The evening, like most in the largely uninhabited backpackers hotel, began inauspiciously. I was invited to eat the dinner prepared by the family-run institution's matriarch. Not wishing to give offense, and having no better options planned, I acquiesced. The food delicious, I was otherwise unattended amidst several other tables saturated with the large group of middle-aged women and their children who had, for some unknown reason, descended upon our little haven.

The sole person who paid me mind was the hotel manager, I nice gentlemen, about my age, who, once the guests were sated with kepabs and pilav, sat down with me to enjoy his own merited portion. First, he informed me of a belly dance performance that would ensue after dinner. My glutted belly could take no further agitation, so I declined in favor of an evening walk and tea to aid my digestion, but when he invited me to have a drink later, I saw no reason not to accept.

Alas, the wily manager must have chuckled thoroughly, for upon appearing at the appointed time, I arrived just in time to hear him inform the horde of women and children that I would be their guide out "on the town." Of course, I knew nothing about this place and would have failed miserably, but luckily another man, Turkish, came along and was the true leader. As we traipsed along, I incredulous at the turn of events, and dazed at the thought that children would be coming to a bar with us, was bombarded by the irrepressible and by no means inconscionable excitement and curiosity of the children, the oldest of whom was 12. Luckily, my limited Turkish prevented me from divulging too much of my sordid past, or from understanding the multitude of jokes they made at my expense.

My first glimpse of relief was when I realized that the children were only walking with us, but then headed home well before we arrived at our destination. But this moment of exhalation was soon cancelled when we walked into a disco full of college age Turkish youths, dancing to R&B and house music. I shuddered at the rebellion that surely would take place when these women saw the depravity around them, and realized that I was to be counted as one of its participants.

Again, surprise reared its not undesirable head. The women, seemingly solemn at first, soon began to dance along, one by one, and eventually even invaded the dance floor. Tired as my legs were from several days of mountainous hiking, I unchained the fetters of my reservations enough to deceive them regarding my dancing prowess.

At around 1:30, they indicated the desire to leave. Not bad, I thought to myself, lasting past midnight. My stereotypes were fully burst, trampled, and pulverized, however, when we headed, not back to the hotel, but to a bar with traditional (live) Turkish music. The ladies were now firmly entrenched in familiar territory, and set about regulating this latest province in their kingdom. Requesting three songs, they got up and danced the night away, silencing any contrary wills should there have been any. But who could have grudged these women the joy that could not help but pour from their faces?

The next day, I dragged myself out of bed in time for the free breakfast the hotel owed me. I knew not whether to dread what lay in store, or eagerly anticipate it. As I feasted on leavened bread and cheese, the children shouted to me, one girl having dylexicized my name into "Jemery." Barely had I finished my repast, when a chorus of pleas reached me, urging me to come swim with them. It was a mere 10 am, the temperature not above 70, and the pool water an intimidating 60. But I knew they were leaving soon, and who I was to deny the role of hero into which I had been so surreptitiously cast? So in I went, goosebumps and all. I tried to teach them some clever ways of getting water into the eyes of one's opponent, but otherwise they were too excited to learn anything practical. We closed our time together with a game of foosball, played with a ping pong ball. The one thing I will remember from this enterprise was just how wonderfully uncompetitive the children were, enjoying the game but unmindful of any significance regarding the outcome.

Parting was uneventful, a fitting cap to the drab promise which opened the preceding evening. I retired to my room to contemplate the sun.