Fındıkzade

The weather was cold and rainy as I left Sultanahmet. My scrawny shoulders and arms labored under the weight of my packed belongings; I foolishly wore a winter coat which made me sweat profusely as I toiled up the hill, burdened. I should have taken a taxi to avoid the neighborhood gawkers that regularly accost me on my walks to and from my former home - they were out despite the rain. One, the one who I am convinced stands on the street all day solely waiting for me to pass by, was nice enough to help me with our bags, but he pestered me along the way with questions about where I was going, when I would come back, etc. (and how much, of course).

Getting on the crowded, stuffy humid tram straining under the weight of my bags, however, I breathed a sigh of relief: I don't have to come back here anymore. I don't have to take back streets to avoid the hasslers. I don't have to indulge Turkish hospitality for the sake of an impromptu English lesson. I don't have to have loud Spaniards in my way. I don't have to freeze at the sound of the front door closing and shuffles in the hallway at night for fear it might be my (now ex) drunken landlord. I don't have to walk over coarse and uneven cobblestones up and down the hill to get to and from home. I don't have to ride the tram for an hour to get to and from work anymore.

The neighborhood of Fındıkzade in the district of Fatih, which I now call home, is quite the contrast from the stuffy pestering district of Sultanahmet. It is pointedly less crowded and laid back, and most certainly a family neighborhood, the kind where old headscarved grandmothers lower a basket on a string down from the fourth floor window for the neighborhood children to put bread and water from the corner shop in. It is closer to my work, which is a major relief, because it now only takes me about half an hour to get to work. Everything is inexpensive, and it is much quieter. The people are friendly, and no one bothers me.

Walking into my new apartment was literally a breath of fresh air. Fresh, cold air. It is the ground floor apartment, which means that it is set slightly below street level, and, therefore, always cooler than the rest of the building. This will be good for when the full force of the Turkish summer sun is at its strongest, however. There is no gas, which is good because I won't have to pay a steep gas bill. I set my bags down, and heaved a sigh of relief. Home, sweet home.

Room to unpack

My new apartment is twice the size of my old one, furnished, and I pay less money. The walls are painted a lovely pinkish-peach color; the aroma of fresh paint was still lingering. The furniture is relatively new and comfortable and not some worn, hideous lot of earthen-hued 70's or 80's junk, and the carpets are new and tasteful. Incandesant light bulbs hang naked from the ceilings in an art deco-ish fashion.


The bedroom is equipped with a dresser and an armoir (both of which my old house lacked) as well as a queen-sized bed. The roomy bedroom window faces the street, which means the curtains must be closed all the time, but at least a lot of light comes in, unlike my old bedroom, which was a windowless dungeon at the back of the apartment.

Alley view and a huge fridge to boot

The kitchen is delightful: a normal-sized refrigerator and a tiled countertop with a wide sink below a window gets a lot of air and light into the kitchen and makes it an enjoyable place to hang out. I need to get some chairs or stools to put in there. However, it lacks a stove - instead it has a squat blue propane tank with a burner on which you can place pots or pans to cook. Dishes line the cabinets and even though the cooking medium leaves something to be desired, there are plenty of pots and pans, so I can cook more than two dishes (although not at the same time).

Clean, roomy, and sunny

Down the hallway from the kitchen and bedroom on the left is the bathroom. The previous occupant left a strange vareity of plastic shelves and other unsavory items in the trash can which I promptly disposed of. Like all bathrooms in Turkey, it is a wet room, with the electric water-heated shower in the middle. When you shower, the whole bathroom gets wet, and when you are finished you have to squeegee all the water puddles to the drain. Unfortunately, this bathroom is devoid of a western toilet, much to my agitation, so the asian toilet (see an earlier post) in the corner is both the place where you (squat) do your business and also the drain for the shower. *Sigh* I suppose you can't have your cake and eat it too. It is a sizeable bathroom, but I am irked by the asian toilet and the toilet tank that constantly runs and sometimes overflows if you don't babysit the old and faulty float in the tank. I lay awake the other night pondering this particular plumbing problem - namely, to see if I could have a western toilet installed. But then, the shower drain would have to be reworked, and then you get into tile work and the like, so I concluded that, like every plumbing problem, you open a real can of worms when you dare to venture into that territory - the required work grows exponentially. I have my uncle Andrew to thank for helping teach me that.

That's going to be a bit hard to get used to...

My living room is the piece de resistance of my new abode. Wide, roomy, with a loveseat and a couch (trundle bed included), it even has.....wait for it.....a washing machine!!! Never has such a sight brought me such happiness. The living room looks out over a tiny garden - well, more of like a concrete patio with shelved walls in which various weeds are growing, but at any rate, it's a nice place to sit when the weather is nice and has room enough for several clotheslines on which I can hang my clothes to dry. There is no TV, but I am wondering whether I will relly need one with the garden and all. The garden is in kind of a bad way - moldy, mossy, scattered with cigarette butts and various other unwanted household items - but I am glad about that, because it will give me something to do in my spare time and will satisfy my handyman itch to do something with my hands. Hey, I poked around Laurel St. for so long, so I've been dying for a project like this. Hopefully, when all is said and done it will be a nice space to sit in and have kebap barbecues with friends.

We'll get this cleaned up in no time

The new house is indeed delightful and has great energy. It feels like the previous occupants were good, honest people, and I swear I can feel the residual energy of children in the apartment. The landlord is kind and friendly, and the building is quiet. The building is located at the end of a short alley off a quiet street and is near a primary school, so the only noise is the occasional cries and laughter of playing children and the simit seller who comes down the alley at 9 am - ''Simit simit simit simitçi simit simit...!!!'' who will pass you a simit through the window if you don't want to go outside.

At the street end of my alley about 30 yards away I have everything I need: Bim, a discount grocery store; an appliance sales/repair shop; a bakery; a butcher; a shop that sells laundry soaps and other household cleaning suppies; a drinking water supply store; a tea house; a döner shop; and, of course, a row of payphones. Everything within an arm's reach, and friendly and honest people to boot; no, no swindlers here. And, of course, I am a 5 minutes' walk from the tram station that takes me to and from work (and the rest of the city).


Of course, what would a move be without some problem? No change of location passes unhindered. Tuesday night, the second night in my apartment, Chrissy had been making good use of the washing machine late into the night. I got up to use the bathroom and heard copious amounts of water splashing onto the floor. What's this? Peering into the bathroom, I saw water flooding the floor from under the sink. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that the washing machine drainage hose emptied right into the bathroom floor. Hm, OK. I went into the living room and got my feet soaked; for some reason, water from the washing machine had overflowed and water was all over the floor in the living room - saturating the carpet, under the couch, everywhere. ''Good thing I have the ground floor apartment,'' I thought, shaking my head. I don't know why the water went everywhere, but I stayed up late into the night trying to sop up all the spilled water with my one towel. Hopefully that won't happen again, because I am very excited about this washing machine - I haven't done wash for weeks and I don't need it shitting the bed on me.

My problematic (?) washer

As everyone now most likely knows, my girlfriend Christine has come to visit me. I think she got a little culture shocked at first, but we have been having a wonderful time. Even though I work a lot, she has been exploring a lot on her own, and when I have time I have been trying to show her around and a good time as much as possible. I am glad she is here because it is very nice to see a familiar face and have a good friend to share things with. She really likes İstanbul, especially the tea and the fresh food. I always love playing tour guide for people, and I know she loves being shown around too. And finally, I have been doing some of the tourist things I have put off for so long. Perhaps now that I am out of Sultanahmet I will be more inclined to do such things.


A great roommate, a great neighborhood, and a great living space. Everything is just. Right.

Spring Changes and the Character of Cobblestones

Beloved family, friends, and inconspicuous followers of this blog, I apologize; please forgive me for not keeping up this blog as I should. It is a bit difficult when the only access I have to a computer is at my work, which is about an hour away from my place of residence, and lately, whenever I have resolved to take the time to update, some unexpected task presents itself or I haven't the time because of prep work and various other things. Very sorry.

Well now. Spring is very much here in İstanbul. This past week the temperatures reached the upper 60s, and the middle of the days were actually quite hot. Little tufts of yellow and white have begun to manifest themselves on the bare tree branches, and vibrant patches of color have sprung up amongst the roadside grasses and park fringes (although the good workers of the İstanbul greater municipality might have some responsibility for the latter). The colors of the sea and sky and earth are shining brighter and bolder, and people seem to be happier.

But Spring isn't all sunshine and flowers and baby animals, as we all know. Of course, this Saturday we have to lose an hour from our clocks, which goes down poorly with everyone. And because of the warm weather, there are more tourists roaming about in my home patch of Sultanahmet. Which also means more, larger crowds and, inevitably, more hasslers. Of course I have become used to living and a tourist area and the hanucu have come to know me and know not to bother me anymore, but the spring seems to have brought a fresh crop of hasslers to the weathered cobblestones of the historical district. It's like the full-time guys called all their cousins: ''Hey brother no work, huh? Come to Sultanahmet with me and pester the yabancılar with me, it's easy and you get to work outside!''

Naturally the increase in pedestrian traffic makes it difficult to go anywhere - especially lately because of the strange sudden increase in the amount of Spanish and Italian travelers who are, to me, notorious for always being in the way, and also irritatingly very loud. Walking becomes not only an exercise for your legs and feet, but also a workout for your lower back because you have to keep twisting and turning to dodge oncoming pedestrian traffic and make room for other people. I think the crowded sidewalks are exascerbated by the fact that, unlike American sidewalks, the sidewalks in İstanbul (and Europe for that matter) are quite narrow, and if there isn't a car parked on the sidewalk that directs your stroll into the street, there is some guy selling an eclectic vareity of junk laid out on a blanket (make room for the pocket tissues, please).

Well, at any rate, all this business with the tourists and the hassling and lovely weather has made me realize that soon I need to pack my things and find a quieter neighborhood to live in, and one preferably closer to work - the hour commute each way has become wearisome. Plus, I think living out of the way would really improve my language skills, because it would force me not to use English as much - nothing like jumping off into the deep end for a real taste of the local culture.

Perhaps my new neighborhood streets and sidewalks will be paved, unlike Cankurtaran. This would most certainly be a welcome change for me. Belgian Block, as we say back home, or, cobblestones, are quite nice; despite small bits of garbage getting caught between them, they have a romantic aura about them and stir the imagination as to the history they've seen. An American tourist I was walking behind recently put it succinctly: ''But cobblestones have so much more character....''

True enough, but they sure are hard on the feet.

Get a Grip

You know what the worst thing about being an expat is? Being a sick expat. Being terribly ill in a place where you barely know the language is the stuff of nightmares.

I fell ill last Wednesday night. I met a friend at a cafe and going home afterwards, I felt more like I was being dragged by the tram than riding it. My whole body ached, especially my kidneys, and my stomach was killing me. I was exhausted. I went home and went right to bed.

I couldn't get up the next day. I called work and told them I wasn't coming, that they would have to get someone to cover for me. Ok, no problem. Thursday I stayed in bed, as well as Friday; school was less happy about me missing two days:

''You're sick? Why don't you see a doctor?'' Because I hate going to the doctor and it's going to cost me a fortune I don't have right now, and he's going to tell me to do what I am doing right now. ''Don't worry, I'll be there for my Saturday class,'' I said, because I knew they'd be really mad if I called at 6.30 Saturday morning and made them find someone to cover for me.

Saturday I forced myself to get up and go. My body didn't ache anymore, but my stomach was killing me. I went to work anyway. By the time my class was over at 1, I was feeling a little bit better. My colleages suggested that I may have a parasite, but thankfully this fear was later alleviated. I asked a retired doctor friend of mine what he thought and he said, ''Perhaps it is stress,'' Hm. But I don't think I'm stressed, and my stress stomach aches have never been like this before. However, I ate some mint drops he gave me and I felt a lot better. I felt normal again. Happy. Yes! I went home and watched some TV before going to bed.

I woke up early on Sunday for work. On the way to work, I got the cold sweat again and my stomach began to writhe in pain once more. I made it about 3/4 of the way through my 4 hour class before I gave in: ''I'm sorry, class is over for today, I'm very sick, I have to go home,'' and I walked out and went home. After a long tram ride home which I don't remember, I curled up in bed freezing, sweating, and doubled over in pain.

I slept uneasily and had those dreams you have when you are unbelieveably ill - colors flash before your eyes, the ground rotates in every direction, and mysterious people appear out of nowhere and begin talking to you. You think about unsolveable nonexistant problems and wonder how you will ever escape this terrible fantasy world, and when you awake you are more exhausted than when you fell asleep because your mind has joined your body in tormenting you and sapping you of your energy.

I awoke late the next morning drenched in sweat and grabbed my dictionary - F, G, I İ,İ,İ......aha! Influenza (n.) = grip. Grip. I finally got one. Damn. I called my friend Selo and told him to bring flu medicine, and then called my work to call out for yet another day. By the end of Monday, my fever had gone and I didn't ache but my stomach was in terrible pain. At the behest of my employer, and my intuition at this point, I resolved to go to the doctor the next morning.

I woke up early on Tueday, showered, and visited my friend Kürşad. Luckily there was a small public hospital right behind his carpet shop. Since I finally got my residence permit, I don't carry around my passport anymore, but this was not a good idea when one has to visit the hospital I found, because as a foreigner to be seen by the doctor they need to enter your passport number into the computer. It is impossible without it, a mohawked teen with grubby sneakers in reception told me. Luckily (I should have guessed by now, this is Turkey), Kürşad knew the doctor and we were able to sneak downstairs and slip into the examination room. The room was pink and the paint was peeling off the walls. The examination table was covered in a white cotton cloth and not paper. A bespectacled female doctor and a nurse sat at a desk with a huge ledger on it. They told me to sit and asked what was wrong with me. I told them, ''Grip.'' Hm. Lie down, pull your shirt up. Cold stethoscope. Sit up, lean forward, pull your shirt up. Cold stethoscope. Deep breath. Shirt down. Open wide. Lift your arm, keep this thermometer there. She and Kürşad rattled on in Turkish about something. Take the thermometer out.

''Aha! Tamam,'' she said, and pulled out a pad and began scribbling furiously. ''You must eat only boiled potatoes, bananas, and light yoğurt for a few days, rest, sleep, and then you can,'' Huh? She handed me a prescription and Kürşad shuttled me out of the office - ''Çok teşekkür ederim doktor effendim!''

''Well, what is it??'' I asked him. ''The grip?''

''Not. The food,'' he replied. The food? We went to the pharmacy and picked up the medicine - 10 lira, $8 - and we returned to the shop. Usta was waiting for us there. ''Tell him what's wrong with me so he can explain,'' I told Kürşad (because Usta's English is much better than his). Bubble bubble.....''Aha!'' Usta exclaimed. ''You don't have the flu. The reason you are so tired all the time is that your stomach is not used to the food here. Your stomach is trying to take vitamins and nutrients from the food you eat but it is not getting them, so all of your energy is being used up on this process. The doctor has told you to eat bananas and potatoes and such to stop your diarrhea. You have to rest for a few days, then you can go back to work.''

Food. It was the food that was killing me. All that delicious food. *Sigh*

Well, the medicine seems to be helping a little bit. My stomach doesn't hurt that much anymore, but it still does a little every now and then, and I am still quite tired a lot. Hopefully in a few days I will be tip-top again. I have ventured off of the bananas-and-potatoes path a little prematurely, with some success, but I still hope this will clean itself up soon because my work just dumped another class on me in the morning on Thursday/Friday, so if I don't get better soon, well, I'll just have to go back to the hospital.

At any rate I can't complain about the bill; usually the rate I learned for foreigners to be seen and diagnosed is about 75 TL ($60). Because of my friend's friend's friend, can you guess what the bill was? 15 lira - about $12.

Being sick here is bittersweet.