​No one wants to write about a loved one in the past tense. Even when they’re lying in that sterile hospital bed, we never imagine that we’ll have to.
 
You, my maternal grandmother, a strong and stubborn storm of a woman, have been gone for two years now. I’ve thought of you and the tribute you deserve every day. Everything that’s been said has so many holes, so much left out. I know I have to do my part and contribute my voice and memory, but I’ve been so afraid. Nothing I write will ever adequately describe nor honor you. But, after two years, I’ll do my best.
 
I was there, in the hospital that last week. As I put on my mask and gloves, I stared at the bed, wondering: Who was this feeble, thin-haired, pale-skinned old woman? I surely didn’t know. My grandmother wasn’t old. Maybe her age was what some might consider old, but they didn’t know her. My grandmother had a social calendar I envied, stayed up later than I did, and beat me by two years to getting a first iPhone. Plus, my grandmother wasn’t feeble. She did water aerobics at the country club and worked in her yard all the time. And thin-haired and pale-skinned? My grandmother would never stand for that. Her beauty routine would simply not allow it. She so guiltily passed on to me some soft, flaky fingernails, and would always update me on the latest nail-tech to cure them. She never forgot to apologize for my nails.
 
None of those traits described the woman in the hospital bed.
 
The woman in the bed needed machines to support her. You, Mimi, never needed anyone or anything. As the oldest of nine growing up on a farm in Mississippi, you knew how to handle yourself and get things done. Despite your modest upbringing, you still appreciated the finer things and had the good taste to accommodate for it. But you still never lost your sensibility. You took pride in teaching us how to shop (read: bargain hunt). You loved taking us to discount stores like Ross and TJ Maxx while carrying your designer Brahmin handbag. It all made sense though — you’d always told us you were a city girl trapped in a country girl’s body.
 
There was no way the woman depending on a machine for life was you. You didn’t need help. Anything you wanted done you could get done, and anything else was inferior. You weren’t afraid to point that out, either.
 
Once, instead of our traditional homemade pepper jelly and cream cheese appetizer, I brought something to change it up a bit — Tabasco pepper jelly and goat cheese. It was quite clear how displeased you were, and I wanted to toss my snack in the trash for the great shame I’d brought upon my family. When you were ill during our last Christmas with you, your brother spent hours in the kitchen trying to replicate your signature (and world’s best) dressing. He was so tired afterwards that he spent all Christmas Day napping. You later lamented that it would’ve turned out much better had you made the dressing yourself.
 
I loved your pride because, to me, it translated into honesty. You were right — your dressing would have been better. You didn’t invent lies or stories just to make people feel better. In that way, compliments from you were so highly prized. When you told me you liked my hair cut, I knew you meant it. When you said you were proud of me, I believed you.
 
Reels of these memories played in my mind as I tried to contribute my 22-year-old wisdom into difficult family discussions. You didn’t want to be supported by a machine, but you still left the decision with your family. We thought it would give you just one more chance. You knew we just needed a little more time with you. As was often the case, you were right.
 
While visiting that hospital bed, friends and our more distant relatives often mentioned how much my grandmother loved us and how sweet she was. This always made my head tilt slightly to the side. Something about hearing the descriptor “sweet” for my Mimi just didn’t fit. You were undoubtedly kind and good. You spent hours and years working for volunteer organizations. You were a leader dedicated to making your church and community better places. You cared about people, and were always willing to help anyone who needed it. You were full of generosity and love.
 
But sweet? I’m not sure about that one. You were too tough to be sweet. Too opinionated, too assertive. The frequency and manner with which you sent back your dishes at restaurants wasn’t exactly sweet. Your long exposure to Fox News and the unsweet opinions it fostered in you often made me cringe. The complaints you made to cashiers and the overly frank tone you took with them weren’t sweet. You were good, talented, popular, loving and loved. Not sweet.
 
You were a complex woman, and to reflect on only the positive parts would be unfair. To dehumanize you — to portray you as faultless — would rob us of your memory. To keep you as close, as real, as alive as possible is to represent all aspects of who you were — all reasons we loved you and were charmed by you.
 
Your presence never really left us after your body did. The evening the monitor stopped beeping, we went back to your house and opened a folder you’d prepared. Inside were the instructions to the tasteful funeral you’d already planned. You told us whom to call, which verses to put in the pamphlet, which font to use, what to put on the headstone, what to read, who would read it, which songs to be sung by whom.
 
And even more recently, you’re still here helping along the way. When I was preparing to move to Istanbul, I studied your guidebooks. When my Kindle was stolen, you had a reader I could use. When I was running low on cash, an unexpected gift arrived from you in my checking account. Even this year, my birthday card had been selected and purchased by you.
 
I still very much feel your presence, which almost makes it harder that I can’t pick up the phone and speak to you. There’s so much I wish I could talk to you about. I want to clarify things in your recipes (and I’m convinced you intentionally left out ingredients so yours would always be the best). I want to describe the seven-course meal I had, and share the recipe of a stellar coq au vin I made. I want to know about your trip to Turkey, and tell you about my year living there. I want to tell you about the things I’ve seen and done over the past two years. I want you to fuss at Papa for downsizing from your house to a one-bedroom apartment to a studio. I want you to console him after he lost his dog just months after his wife of 53 years. I wish you (and I) could’ve seen another one of your granddaughters get married. I want you to see the land my parents bought and how happy they are there. I want you to see my sister’s paintings.
 
I want to hear you mispronounce hurricane as “hurricun” and say, “Well, I’ll be” when something stumps you. I want to keep learning from you, though I know I will. I might not be able to call you anymore, but somehow you still answer. I’ll keep calling, however — not for the woman in the bed, not for that “sweet” lady, but for you.
 

Everyone knows Istanbul. It’s one of the largest cities in world. Rich history. Home of the Byzantine, Roman and Ottoman empires. And, as some intuitive souls may like to point out, it’s the place “where east meets west,” culturally and geographically.

Though we’re all familiar with Istanbul (or have at least heard of it), the same can’t be said for the rest of Turkey. Turkey has some of the most amazing natural sights I’ve ever seen and had never heard of. While travelling through the country, I found myself wondering, is Istanbul overrated while Turkey is underrated? This is by no means a jab at Istanbul, merely a testament to the country’s other offerings.

In the way New York City isn’t an accurate representation of the United States, Istanbul doesn’t represent Turkey.

As you move outside the city, the people and landscapes change dramatically. Whereas in Istanbul, you may get shoulder-checked on the street without apology, in Izmir, the bus driver may offer lost tourists a free ride late at night. But then in the tourist town Göreme, you might get laughed at for speaking Turkish as a foreigner.

Turkey is a diverse place, and fortunately, the country has a great transportation system to make it accessible. You can choose between trains, buses and discount flights for nearly all popular destinations. I didn’t get to travel as much as I would have liked to this year, but I hope I can provide a glimpse of some places to see in Turkey besides Istanbul.


Antalya

Mid-February to the end of April was a long time. We had no days off and several work-filled weekends before we could enjoy some time to ourselves. Clay worked every Saturday in March with a few in April, and there were a couple occasions where I was off Sunday and he Saturday. I sound whiny —  I am — but when the majority of your time is spent with humans whose hands you have to sniff to make sure they washed them after eating honey with breakfast, you really need some time off.

So when we finally got a long weekend, we hightailed it out of the city, where there would be some peace (and a smaller chance of running into our students in public). Our destination of choice was Antalya, Turkey.  

Antalya is small, gorgeous city on the Mediterranean Coast that’s easily accessible from Istanbul via a cheap one-hour flight. (Sidenote: Turkish Airlines is amazing, and you should take it if you ever get the opportunity. Check-in is the easiest thing ever, and it provides a sandwich-salad-dessert-drink mealbox for even hour-long flights.)

Antalya is perfect for the strolls through Kaleiçi, the old town and historic city center, lovely panoramic views, and dips in the clear turquoise sea. The water is beautiful with inviting rocks to climb and sit on, and then cry because it’s so pretty it hurts. For me there’s just nothing better than sitting out on the water with a view of mountains in the distance.

Though I would’ve been perfectly content spending every day in the city of Antalya, one day out of our trip we took an $8 bus to Olympos, about an hour-and-a-half away. Olympos is an ancient Lycian city with well-preserved ruins. You can really see the layout of the city and imagine how it appeared in its heyday. After we trekked in, through and around the ruins, we were rewarded (like we hadn’t already been) entrance to an incredible isolated beach with crystal water, rocks tourists had climbed with the intention of jumping off but got scared and lingered at the top for way too long, and locals selling midye dolma (stuffed mussels) and gözleme (Turkish pancakes).


Ephesus

The last day of school finally rolled around in mid-June, and it was the weirdest feeling. I spent every day of the past year with these 18 children, and all of a sudden I knew I would never see them again. It was sad, joyous, relieving, depressing, reflective, and again — weird. I wondered what they’d remember from me and wished I’d had time to teach them more. Like when I told one of my sweet girls goodbye (forever!) and told her to give me a big hug, but instead she kissed me on the mouth. I probably should have reviewed that vocabulary.

The teachers were sticking around for two weeks of seminars, cleaning and desk warming in the quiet company of no one who could tell their age on their fingers. It was going to be a long two weeks of itching for summer, but it was doable. However, late in the afternoon on the second day of “working,” my head teacher alerted me that it was my last day. Oh! OK! Last minute as always, but there was no way I’d be upset about this one.

I went home, got celebratory beers with Clay, and by the next day we had planned a tour of all the sights in Turkey we knew we had to see but didn’t know if we’d be able to.

The first stop of our trip: Ephesus.

Ephesus is an ancient city near the western coast that was founded in the 10th century BC and is currently the home to impressive, well-preserved ruins. It’s housed several peoples and empires over the centuries and is an important place in Christian history. Paul the Apostle lived in Ephesus for a few years developing the church there, and he wrote the letter to the Ephesians while imprisoned in Rome. The gospel of John was supposedly written in Ephesus, as well as what’s believed to be the last home that the Virgin Mary lived in. Clearly, this place holds many stories.

The story I most cared about was retracing my grandmother’s footsteps more than 20 years ago. She did a tour of locations in Turkey and Greece, and Ephesus was her favorite stop.

We left Istanbul in the morning and took a one-hour flight to Izmir. Our airline (Atlas Jet) provided a free shuttle to Selçuk, where we were staying. After checking into our hotel, we made the 3-kilometer walk to Ephesus — a world so different we kept reminding ourselves we had woken up in Taksim the same day.

I was not prepared for the scope of the ancient city. It’s massive and intricate. We sat in the theater for a good half hour imagining all of the sights the arena had witnessed — philosophers, preachers, gladiator battles, plays, what else?

The whole of Ephesus is so extensive it really makes it possible to imagine daily life in its prime. It doesn’t feel like a pile of cement; it truly is the remains of a town. If you ever go to Ephesus, be forewarned: It will spoil you for ruins. For example, the next time I saw ruins — in Santorini — I couldn’t help but think it was just a bunch of rocks. It was nothing like the city I’d seen in Turkey.

Our second day in Selçuk, we took a bus to a “charming” wine town we’d heard about called Şirince. Essentially, it’s a small Turkish town that’s a peculiar combination of truly local and insanely touristy — a weird mix. Şirince is known for its fruit wines, but with the exception of mulberry, we found all the flavors to be medicine-flavored and overly sweet. I suppose it’s a nice place to stroll and sample wines for a bit, but I won’t be adding it to my next itinerary. I’ll also stick to my cabernet sauvignon.


Pamukkale

Pamukkale was the next stop of our Turkish tour, and I really can’t describe it any way other than “it was awesome” with a big goofy grin. We got there by taking a three-hour train from Selçuk to Denizli, then a half-hour bus from Denizli to Pamukkale. Easy.

Pamukkale, which means “Cotton Castles” in Turkish, seriously looks like an alien landscape. It’s so white it hurt my eyes through my sunglasses, and it resembles piles of billowy snow. As soon as you reach the peak where the hot springs are, visitors are required to remove their shoes for the rest of the walk. The ground, as it’s covered in flowing water, looks like it’d have a banana peel effect on someone as graceful as me, but instead, it has a grainy, grippy texture that’s really satisfying to walk across.

There are hundreds of thermal pools — some empty, some not — resting in travertine terraces. The pools are about knee deep, and perfect for just sitting and leaning back against the edge of the terrace. Soft clay sits at the bottom of the pool, and many of the locals use it as a natural sunscreen.

I’ve read the Pamukkale Wikipedia page a dozen times, and I still don’t exactly understand what it is. However, I can say that it’s worthy of a spot on the bucket list. I mean, it’s just so cool.


I’ll talk about my trips to Cappadocia and the Greek Islands in my next post. 

A couple days ago, I asked for help in reviving this embarrassingly dusty and outdated blog. Some of you sent me some questions, and I thank you for coming through and getting this thing rolling again. A couple questions I received require much more thought and thorough answers, so I'll save those for separate posts. Nevertheless, here we go!

When does the assignment end, and what will you do afterwards?
We're under a yearlong contract that ends in September (covering two months paid vacation, woo!). After that, we're not sure what's next. I don't think we'll stay in Istanbul another year, but we haven't ruled out the rest of the country. We haven't seen any more of Turkey, and we're looking forward to exploring other cities during our upcoming winter holiday. For the last few years, my dream has been to live in Spain, and we weren't able to do that this past year. However, we just completed our applications for Spain's Cultural Ambassadors program, so perhaps that will be right for us next year. We're prepared, but not focusing on it too much. After all, we haven't even hit the halfway point here yet. It's fun to imagine all the places I could be in the next six months or year, but I'd end up (and have been guilty of) neglecting my current situation. I'm trying not to get too far ahead of myself. 

How's the weather?
It's cold! At this present moment, it's 48 degrees Fahrenheit, which is the warmest it's been in over a week. This week it's mostly hovered around the 20s and 30s. I'm sure my Yankee friends are "pffting" at me right now, but for this Louisiana girl, it's nearly too cold to will myself outside. I'm being dramatic, maybe, but I'm just not good with cold weather.

However, the cold does have its perks. This past week, schools were closed Tuesday through Thursday due to snow. I've had a couple "snow days" back home, but really it's just sleet, and everything shuts down because no one knows how to handle it. This was different. 

On Wednesday, we had the snow day I'd always imagined. The snow was light and fluffy, falling in perfect, fat flakes. Clay and I piled on as many layers as we could possibly fit and headed out to meet some friends. As we stepped out of our building, we couldn't resist snapping some photos of the white — normally gray, dingy and a little bit rough — landscape around us. I reluctantly took off my glove (because I don't have those cool smartphone fingertip gloves and I couldn't NOT take a photo of this), lifted my iPhone to capture our frosted outdoor stairs, when I was struck in the leg. I turned to see a laughing Turkish grandmother picking up more snowballs as ammo. The fight was on, and it continued throughout our walk to Taksim Square, with new opponents becoming whoever passed by. Everyone around us was outside with big, silly grins playing in the snow. It was refreshing to see we weren't the only ones who couldn't contain our glee. Turks tend to take themselves rather seriously, so seeing an old man dodge between buildings to get a good shot at Clay with was something I won't forget.

All in all, it's really cold. That said, it can be a pure joy, or it can make you want to hibernate until spring.  Depends on the day.

How did you celebrate Christmas?
Before the weather got cold, and even before I ever packed my bags, I was warned about Christmas. This is supposed to be the time when culture shock sets in, you get homesick, your expectations may outweigh reality, etc., etc. Oh, and it's dark and cold all the time, so don't forget about seasonal affective disorder. That'll definitely happen, too. And you're living in a country that's 98 percent Muslim, so you probably won't even notice it's Christmas. That's so sad, why don't you just come home?

That sounds super depressing, doesn't it? Maybe I let it get to me, so as you can imagine, my expectations for Christmas were not high. We only had Christmas Day — Thursday — off of work, the boxes of presents our families sent two months prior were stuck somewhere in France, and we didn't even have any plans. 

As oftentimes it is, the worrying was all for naught. Though Turkey is a Muslim country that doesn't celebrate Christmas, the Christmas spirit was everywhere. There were lights, trees, decorations, presents, elves and Santa figures everywhere. I remember one day, months ago, my Turkish co-teacher showed me a photo of some gorgeous Christmas cookies she baked, and another of her standing next to beautifully decorated and lit-up Christmas tree. Confused and scratching my head, I asked her, "Oh... you celebrate Christmas...?" She gave me a look that immediately made me feel like an idiot and responded with, "No, New Year." That's right. All of our typical American-Christmas traditions and regalia have been repurposed to celebrate the incoming year. At work, we participated in a Secret Santa gift swap for New Year's, and the kids believe Santa Claus is visiting them at midnight on December 31. Certainly different, but it was nice to feel the holiday spirit around.

Next thing on the list: company for Christmas. After a couple months of Facebook messaging, it was finally arranged that our good friend and former Reveille coworker Mike Gegenheimer would arrive Christmas Eve, stay with us two nights to celebrate Christmas, then continue on his seven-countries-in-14-days winter break trip. I met Gegs at the airport, and we journeyed home to find Clay, a friend, and two giant boxes sitting in our living room. As you can imagine, this was all absolutely overwhelming in the best way possible. Our friend from Louisiana is sitting here, on our couch, catching us up on all the LSU and Reveille goings-on while drinking Millers. Where are we? This certainly can't be Istanbul. Next to the couch are nearly 40 pounds of presents that we'd been hunting since October. They didn't arrive on Christmas Eve. Impossible. 


Everything felt surreal and unbelievable. It was so normal, so nice. The three of us kept reminding ourselves where we were and that this was happening. I know I had a dopey grin I couldn't force away.

Christmas Day we slept in and had tea and borek before digging into our homemade stockings (fashioned from a cheap blanket) and unexpected heap of presents. We got socks, pajamas, garlic powder and cilantro leaves, my favorite Bath & Body Works hand sanitizers, nice wine and rum, Louisiana goodies, and everything in between. It was fantastic.

After we ripped through every box and bag we could find, we ventured off to Sultanahmet, where we visited the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sofia. I should also mention that Christmas Day brought the most beautiful weather we'd seen in months. It was warm and sunny, and I left my peacoat hanging on the coat rack for the first time since fall.

We finished Christmas Day with family Skype sessions, wine, beer and Domino's Pizza at our friends' apartment. Everything had fallen into place beautifully, and we had a truly wonderful Christmas. The next day, we awoke early for work, we saw Gegs off, and everything was back to normal. The skies returned to their typical gray, cold and wet temperament. Throughout the day, I had to continuously remind myself that yesterday had been real. If such a thing exists, we had a perfect Turkish Christmas. 


Below are some photos from Christmas and our snow days. 

It's hard to believe how quickly time can escape you. As of today, I've been in Turkey for five months, and unfortunately, it's been three months since I've written here. A long, much-belated post is on its way, but this one isn't it. Instead, I'd like to ask for your help in getting my blog back on track. Please comment/email/Facebook message/text me any things you might be wondering or want to know about my life in Istanbul, and I'll post my answers here, Q&A style. 

I'm looking forward to hearing from you, and I promise I'll update things here soon. Much love to all!

Living in a foreign land is a tug-of-war between the fascination and excitement of discovery and the longing for those things that are beloved and familiar. I enjoy my life in Turkey, but I don’t shun my life in Louisiana. There are many things I miss from my home, but I won't be buying a plane ticket back just yet. 

I could go on for days about the things I miss from home compared to the things I love about Turkey, but instead, here’s a visual representation I made of five of each. I didn't include my friends and family — you already know they're at the top of the list. However, it is quite fun finding Turkish dopplegangers of my loved ones. 

We’ve passed the one-month mark of our time in Turkey, and still the answer to the most common question — “How’s Istanbul?” — doesn’t come any more easily.

The truth is, Istanbul is so massive that it’s able to be everything. It’s conservative. It’s liberal. Progressive. Traditional. Cheap. Expensive. Religious. Secular. A city of contradictions, maybe, but somehow, it works. Because there’s a bit of everything here, the overall sentiment seems to be something like “whatever floats your boat.” Wear your sleeveless top, short skirt and high wedges if you want. Show only the skin surrounding your eyes and the bridge of your nose if you prefer. Turn up the volume on the television while the call to prayer plays from the nearest mosque. Istanbul is exactly what you want it to be.

After my best attempt at answering “How’s Istanbul?” I have to say that I do love living here. I enjoy the big-city life — not having a car, being within walking distance to all conveniences, using public transportation. There’s always a new place to explore and more things to do and see. And as you can assume, this place makes for great people-watching.

Life here feels very normal. We have our routines and can (for the most part) easily get from one place to another. We have our regular spots for simit, börek, pide and groceries, and we’re starting to get recognized when we go. Even though the location isn’t perfect and we plan to move eventually, our apartment is nice, clean and comfortable. While there are many things I miss about home, I haven’t felt homesick yet.

Most of the "Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore" moments come from the language barrier. Some people speak English, but not the majority. My supervisor at work and my co-teacher speak no English, which definitely adds to the normal struggles of adjusting to a new job. Everyone says they hate meetings, but there’s nothing quite like attending mandatory meetings held in Turkish with no translations. "Would it be rude if I played on my phone right now?" I always wonder during these situations.

Not knowing the language complicates every minor task, from ordering dinner to paying the phone bill. That’s obvious and expected. However, the frustrations from our awkward exchanges are far outweighed by the sense of victory we experience when we have a smooth transaction or learn a new phrase. Our Turkish is slowly but surely coming along. Everyday I learn something new and form connections I hadn’t realized the day before. I love that sense of productivity. You can feel yourself acquiring something you didn’t have before, and you imagine the things you can now do because of your increased ability to communicate. I can’t wait to see how far my Turkish gets by the end of the year.

I’ve been working for four weeks now. The first week was a six-day orientation for English teachers from different branches of the school all over the country. It was great for networking — I now know many experienced teachers who can field my questions, and we have places to stay when we visit cities outside Istanbul. The next week was the first week of orientation for new primary school students. As I was originally assigned to teach first and second grade, I spent most of the first week teaching a few lessons a day to the orientation students. Even though I may have freaked out a little over the lack of warning, it forced me to quickly get comfortable in the classroom and was good for getting my feet wet. But on the fourth day, I was told I’d been moved to kindergarten, which has a completely different structure.

As a kindergarten teacher, I will spend the whole day with a group of 17 5-year-old children. Most don’t know any English. I share a classroom with a Turkish homeroom teacher, who is also always present. My co-teacher is experienced and sweet, but she doesn’t speak English, which can make planning rather tough. We’ll take turns teaching lessons together and separately in just English or Turkish, but the idea is that the lessons will be 70% English and 30% Turkish.

My last two weeks have mostly involved readying the classrooms, but for three days last week the kindergartners came in for two hours a day to meet us and get used to being away from Mommy. Tomorrow they will have a full school day, but I’ll play more of an assistant role for the next two weeks. The children are young and not accustomed to school, so having a foreigner who doesn’t understand them is a bit intimidating just starting out. But when the orientation period ends on Sept. 29, I’ll have my hands full.

There are many pros and cons to sharing a class, but I’m hoping spending all day in a kindergarten environment will be an easy way for me to improve my Turkish. For example, I’ve already learned how to say what today is and what tomorrow will be just from being exposed to the calendars in the classroom.

Things change a lot around here, and “go with the flow” is now becoming my mantra, difficult as it may be for a control-freak planner like myself. Rolling with the punches may be exhausting at times, but it’s the only way to survive. I’m learning to laugh at the absurdities rather than stress over them, and not let my work life affect me personally.

I’m learning a lot, growing up a little and getting ready to face these Play-Dohing fiends for eight hours a day. Wish me luck!

I planned to post more frequently than I have been, but Clay and I have been super busy the past two weeks. During this time, I: 

• started work, which entailed attending a six-day, 48-hour seminar, 
• woke up with a full-body rash on the first day of work, 
• was thrown into classrooms to teach multiple grade levels on a morning's notice,
•  got reassigned to teach kindergarten for the school year, 
• moved into a new apartment,
• and lost and recovered my iPhone thanks to a kind cab driver. 

But instead of getting into all that, I just want to talk about food.

I love food. I love to talk about food, write about food, and even make food from time to time. Before we came to Istanbul, a heavy proportion — if not the majority — of the research I did was about food. I was so excited to try everything, and there's still so much more I haven't sampled. As awkward as we may be with our one-item-at-a-time ordering habits (it doesn't work like that here), that hasn't stopped us from frequently eating out and enjoying the local cuisine. 

Check out the slideshow for my made-for-Instagram food photos and experiences. 

As I swiped my hand along the black rubbery hand rail of the Taksim Metro Station's escalator, I ran into some sticky mystery substance, interrupting my normally smooth gesture. I turned to Clay, a step below me, and commented that I'm going to go through a lot of hand sanitizer while living here and utilizing public transportation. The ride ended and we broke into the undisturbed sunlight of Taksim Square, heading toward the trendy, shopping-centric Istiklal Caddesi. To give those reading from home a better idea, Istiklal is to shopping what Bourbon Street is to drinking. Though we have found ourselves ending up on or near Istiklal most days or nights, we were on a mission this time. We were heading to Vodafone to finally get our cell phones working.

We did some research before we arrived in Turkey about the process, so we had an idea of what it would entail. But in situations like this, complications are always bound to arise. I forgot to mention that the particular Vodafone we were headed to was probably our fourth cell phone store of the day. The previous stops were unsuccessful due to our mutual language barrier — neither our Turkish nor their English was adequate enough to do a not-so-simple-in-Turkey transaction. We figured (or better, hoped) the workers in the Istiklal location would have better English than the other stores. We were mostly right, and the most English proficient employee sent us to the other end of the long avenue to a Vergi Dairesi, or Turkish tax office. 

At the tax office, we had to show our passports and phones' ID numbers and shell out 120 lira (about 60 bucks) to get our foreign phones registered with the Turkish government. Pleased with the relative ease of our success with this step, we trekked back to Vodafone in the afternoon heat to hand over our documents. Now we were able to get SIM cards with crazy Turkish numbers we picked out. We paid 100 TL for each, and were hit with another complication: the visa stamps on our passport were not clear enough. In order to prove we legally arrived in Turkey, we would have to go down to the police station, which had already closed for the day (at "four-and-a-half," as we were told). 

Day two of this mission started later in the day, as we spent the morning visiting the apartment we would eventually choose to live in. We followed the guide of a pre-loaded Google map to a slightly obscure area near the tax office and found no police station in sight. Locals affirmed that there were no "polis" around here. This wasn't the first time Google Maps led us astray here, and with our phones unable to get online, we were forced to find our way with our less-than-basic Turkish. 

After lots of walking in the heat, we finally reached our destination. We handed over photocopies of our passports — another unexpected errand — filled out a form in Turkish and were told to return at 1:30 the next day. We weren't told why we had to come back, and when we prodded we were offered one response: "Come back tomorrow at 1:30." Discouraged that this would take yet another day, we did what anyone else in the world would do on a bad day — order pizza and beer.

We started the third day of this ridiculous undertaking by paying the first month's rent on our new apartment. (Yay!) The exchange was pretty awkward/sweet/comical, as our new landlady invited us to sit and chat in her living room though we shared no common language. It mostly consisted of smiles, giggles and charades, and once we left, it was close enough to 1:30 to head to the police station. Of course, when we arrived, the whole station was closed for lunch. Typical.

We finally made it and got a Turkish document we could not read to deliver to Vodafone. I have no idea what exactly the paper was, but it pleased the phone company enough to activate our SIMs, which took about an hour and cost 50 TL each. The bureaucracy of dealing with this seemingly simple task was laughably ridiculous — Clay even considered it "cute." We made it home that day drenched in sweat but carrying functioning cell phones. It's almost disturbing how tremendous the peace of mind I felt was after knowing I carried a device in my pocket that could connect me with the rest of the world. I hope I'll be able to eventually wean myself off of my reliance on it. 

Our host Tulay says the reason for this loophole-laden process is to combat foreign phone theft, which was apparently a big problem here because electronics are very expensive in Turkey. Thieves would snag a tourist's cell phone, pop out his or her SIM, replace it with a Turkish card and call it a day. So, maybe that is why. Or maybe it has to do with the government's increasing desire for control. It's likely both. I honestly don't know what the documents were that I had to sign in order to have a functioning phone, but it certainly seemed worth it.

All in all, the day was surely a victorious one. After a three-day affair, we finally had working phones and a nice apartment we can move into in a week. I guess all the hoop-jumping made the success a little bit sweeter. Oh, and the ordeal resulted in us getting an awesome pizza, so there's that, too.

It's almost 6 a.m. — an hour after the day's first call to prayer — and I'm wide awake, sitting on the firm, white bed of our AirBnB room. We'd been sleeping since about 5 p.m. This is the second day we've had an afternoon nap turn into an accidental full night's sleep, and I'm hoping to stay up all day today to break this cycle we've found ourselves in. 

We got here about 6:30 p.m. Istanbul time on Wednesday after an annoying two-hour delay in London. The past couple days we've just spent walking around the city and taking in our new surroundings. It's definitely not flat like Louisiana, so these long walks of up- and downhills have my embarrassingly outof shape leg muscles in shock. I'm very much looking forward to getting to the point where I've adapted enough to not sweat and be sore after a few hours of walking.

With the exception of stumbling into the Spice Bazaar without knowing at the time that it was, in fact, the Spice Bazaar, the only touristy thing we've done so far is visited the Topkapi Palace. The palace, which housed four centuries of Ottoman sultans, was one of the attractions I was most looking forward to visiting before coming here. But unfortunately, it was a rather disappointing experience. It's not that the palace isn't gorgeous and historical — it was the massive crowds of rude tourists and endless lines that marred our time there. 

You had to wait in a long line to purchase your ticket, then another to enter, and then lines once again to go inside the various rooms of the palace. Then, once inside, you couldn't casually roam and browse as you would any other museum exhibit. You had to explore the palace in yet another slow-moving line. And even though you spent all of this time waiting with everyone, people would still force their way past, around and in front of you, as if they had a great. 

However, the palace was still pretty amazing. The harem was gorgeous (despite all the dirty deeds that happened there), and there were tons of awesome old relics, like the sultans' swords and robes. some others that seemed a bit questionable... David's sword? Okay. That's really Moses' staff? If you say so. Nevertheless, I absolutely cannot wait to return in the off-season to avoid the hordes of obnoxious tourists. 

I could go on forever, but instead I'll just bullet a list of general observations I've found in our time here so far. 

• Istanbul feels very European. The shops, bars and cafes remind me of parts of Spain and France.
• There are tons of stray cats that make horrible sounds at night. There aren't nearly as many dogs, but the pets here appear to all be either cocker spaniels or pit bulls. Weird.
• The food is super cheap. We spend about $7 US on lunch or a cheap dinner. However, as we expected, alcohol is pricey here. A cocktail costs about 10 USD, wine 7-9 USD and beer 5 USD and up. I guess that's not terribly expensive, but it certainly seems that way in comparison to everything else here. 
• Depending on where you're going, taxis are relatively inexpensive too. The drivers are absolutely crazy though. Clay finds it a lot more entertaining than I do.
• I've seen local women wearing tank tops, sleeveless dresses and a few midriff-baring crop tops, but no shorts that fall above the knee. The tourists wear pretty much anything.
• It seems like the majority of women do not wear head scarves, though many do. We've also seen many women in the all-black niqab that covers everything but their eyes. I can't help but feel like something seems a little off when seeing these women walking with their husbands, who are comfortably dressed in modern clothes. I really want to spend some time learning more about women and Islam. 

Check out a few photos from Topkapi Palace. I'll post more soon.