София

I don’t know if it was a good or bad thing that I went out of town for a couple days this week.

Last week, after learning about a national holiday on which our school would be closed, and my insistence on not having a new class with some of my old students, I was able to finagle two days off in a row, and a plan was immediately formed to get out of town for these two days. The obvious destination was a location out of the country, having been stuck here in the drudgery of work and headbangingly Kafkaesque Turkishness, so we settled on Sofia (София), the capital of Bulgaria and a 9 hour overnight bus ride from Istanbul. Tickets were bought immediately and late on Tuesday night after work, we left Istanbul on a bus full of whiny Troglodytes towards Bulgaria – a 9 hour sleepless journey that saw sleepy, repetitive passport checks at the border, smoking gas station attendants, stiflingly hot bus air, countless bathroom breaks, and suicidal Turkish driving until, finally, we coasted peacefully into the soft, soothing, sunshiny Bulgarian morning. I hope I’ll always remember that morning drive into Sofia, through the voluptuously green rolling mountains of the countryside, the valleys and streams and sleepy little villages, timeless and idyllic.

There couldn’t have been more of a dichotomy from the city we left, Istanbul - the “greatest city in the world” (and I really can’t emphasize more how sarcastic I’m being here) – and Sofia. It was almost surreal, in terms of the delightful peacefulness and order. Sofia was pointedly less crowded, and its casualness was palpable; there were wide sidewalks green with trees, and vast parks lush with grass, fountains, and shrubbery. Surprisingly, for a country that had been victim to the ravages of Communism for so long, it was also quite clean as well – smokers were in the strict minority, and I saw people using the rubbish bins, so the city’s faint carbonized dustiness and sporadic construction was forgivable. Another astonishing thing about Sofia (again, only due to our city of origin) was its orderliness. Not only did people use the rubbish bins – they queued, and respected the queue; they waited nonchalantly for the crosswalk lights to change, even if there were no oncoming traffic; they were mindful of others as they walked down the sidewalks; and, they used polite language. They had manners.

I loved the energy in Sofia. It is a casual city, not so relaxed as to be lazy, yet nothing was hurried. Everyone took their own time, and I liked how in the shops and restaurants they were mindful of you, but not overly eager to please or ignorant. It was nice to see that many people would stop along the way to wherever they were going to pop into a church to light a candle or pray to the icons. Indeed, it’s a city of decent, honest people – no one hassled us, and everyone was honest and helpful. People gave us directions when we looked lost, and one woman at a travel agency let us use her computer when we inquired about the whereabouts of an internet café. I think that city is its people, and Sofia reflected this, as it is an unashamed, unboasting, casually progressive city. I could go on indefinitely, but my descriptions would be jaded red, as perhaps they already are.

As it was a long bus ride from Istanbul and our holiday was short, we had a little over one day to enjoy Sofia. Now Kyle, you’ve given yourself away and I can see that you’re waxing poetic, you’re thinking. That’s fine. But please, I invite you to take my word for it - spend a week in Istanbul, and then travel to Sofia for a few days. You’ll see. Anyway, as I was saying, we only had about a day to get a feel for Sofia, so after arriving at 8am, we had a lovely breakfast (ham croissants!!), and then saw all the large orthodox churches around Alexander Nevski Square. Of course, most of the churches were newish, having been destroyed by earthquakes and wars, but the folklore behind them was rich with history - I relished in the stories inside the churches about how, after being converted into mosques after Ottoman conquests, the mosques were destroyed by earthquakes, with all their hodjas and imams perishing inside as well, allowing the churches to be rebuilt again.

Alexander Nevski Cathedral

Respect yourself.

When in the synagogue...

...you must wear the yarmulke.

We then perused the square looking at the replica icons and antique trinkets the vendors had on sale, and picked up a few souvenirs for ourselves (couldn’t get that lovely black Cyrillic typewriter, though.) Later, after finding a hotel and having some lunch, we went to the National Gallery, which had a surprisingly delightful mix of modern art and 19^th and early 20^th century painting. The museum also had an impressive sculpture collection, one of the best I have ever seen.

Iconic Bulgaria.

Shut up and drink.

Yes, beer.

In the afternoon, we walked through the park, drinking in the perfect weather, green nature, and intoxicating lack of crowds, a heady mix that, combined with a few glasses of Bulgarian wine, led to a heavy, late afternoon nap. We awoke a few hours later and had a lovely dinner (real food), and finished off the day with some Bulgarian television. The next day we had to leave at 12, so a quick shopping trip was in order (wine, vodka, pork) and after a “gay” breakfast and a ham sandwich, we were grumpily on our way back to Istanbul. The ride back through the country was idyllic, with its mountains and green fields strewn with bits of yellow flowers and red poppies and tiny roadside churches……*sigh*

Lovely Sofia.

The contrast was stark once we crossed back into Turkey. The only good thing about that was that they didn’t take our booze and pork.

At work now, it’s hard not to get down. It’s like smelling the pie, but you can’t get a slice.

Awesome.

Obviously before we came back.

Where the Wild Things Are

I’m assuming that if you are reading this, you know me, and that if you know me, you know what a cantankerous son of a bitch I am about most things, especially children. Of course, I am of the opinion that most children are monsters, and that most knuckle-draggers, who define a greater proportion of the planet’s population, shouldn’t have children, let alone reproduce. But not out of loathing, no – it’s a matter of principle: there are just too many damn people around as it is. But that’s another story. Of course, because of my crusty nature, I am also of the opinion that children just aren’t punished……what’s the adverb I’m looking for here?......well, punished – period. I thought American children were bad, but after seeing Turkish children behave….*sigh*. Let’s just say they spare the rod and willingly spoil their children here. Of course, boys are given preference and free reign to do what they like without consequence here, unsurprisingly. Girls are almost equally undisciplined, but usually tend to be more well-behaved than the boys, perhaps due to their secondary social status.

What do I mean? Well, this usually means that – in public at least – children whine and scream and complain unchecked. When a child misbehaves I’ve never seen a parent do more than say absentmindedly, “Stop, don’t do that,” while the child carries on making a fuss like the wild beast it is. As soft as parents are these days in America, at least parents back home would give that kid a proper shaking up for prolonged misbehavior, if nothing else. And I can’t figure out for the life of me why children are given seats on public transportation here – if they’ve got all that energy, they can stand. I think this treatment of children has a lot to do with the whiny, childish nature of adults in this country because, let’s face it, most people really never grow up here, and so Turkey is a bit of a Never Never Land in that regard.

So naturally when my boss asked me to cover a children’s class this Saturday, I was apprehensive – no, reluctant. First off, the most experience I’ve had with children was helping a college roommate watch his niece for a few hours, and also playing with a toddler who was one of my mother’s friend’s daughter, for the sake of giving her mother some free time to chat with Mum. The closest thing I’ve had to classroom experience with children was my first job as an ESL teacher, at a summer program in Brooklyn in 2009, teaching Italian teenagers. However, despite this, hours have been low lately, so I agreed to do the class. It was only a one-time thing, and I figured even if I fucked it up, I’d still get paid for it, and I could probably add it to my resume by hamming it up a little.

When I walked into the class there were about fifteen ten year olds running about, drawing, yelling, laughing, whining. This ought to be interesting, I thought, but as soon as they saw me, they all scurried to their seats and sat attentively. Interesting.

Well, I can’t remember the last time I felt nervous in front of a class and froze, perhaps my first day as a teacher, but it happened to me again as soon as all those kids sat down and looked at me. I suddenly realized that I hadn’t planned anything for this lesson, hadn’t taken note of the suggestions my head teacher had emailed me for the class, and hadn’t a clue about what they knew or didn’t know. Actually, I didn’t even know if I was in the right room or not. “Hi,” I smiled.

“What’s your name?” one girl asked me.

“Kyle. Who’s your teacher normally?”

“Arzu.” There were two teachers named Arzu, so I didn’t know if I was in the right Arzu’s class.

“What does she look like?” Blank stares. Apparently, they weren’t taught to describe what people looked like. Excellent, I thought, and went from there - describing people, that's 2 hours right there. I’m good once I find my groove. They were a bit surprised, and pleased, that I spoke Turkish, and truth be told their English was actually very good. Really good. And they were enthusiastic, eager to learn, asking what certain words meant and how to say certain sentences. When I asked a question, they nearly killed each other to be the first to answer it, and they asked questions nonstop. And they didn’t complain, not once. Yes, these children didn’t whine about anything. And how smart they were!! (Really, now I am convinced that a group of children is a potentially dangerous thing – they can be supernaturally clever when they work together). Perhaps the most surprising thing was when, near the end of the lesson, one child asked if they could sleep:

"Do you always do that?" I asked.

"Yes," they said.

"Ok, if you want," I replied.

"Thank you, teacher," they said, and laid their heads on their desks and were completely silent for 5 minutes. Utterly. Amazing. Most of my students are, however, the complete opposite – whinging, unenthusiastic idiots without a drop of creativity who complain and screw around on their phones and talk nonstop, never listening; one time, frustrated, I challenged them to try to keep their mouths shut for 5 minutes. I think they got to 40 seconds. Yeah - these kids are the kind of students I need, I thought.

For the next three hours I taught them some new things and we played a great deal of games, during which the room was nearly destroyed and could apparently be heard two floors down. When class was finished, I was tapped (it takes a lot of energy to manage a class full of ten-year-olds) and the classroom looked like a warzone, but I was satisfied - it’s not often I feel great after a class, and as I left work on a high, I found myself wishing that I could always teach kids, and lamenting I would have to return to my normal, droll adult pupils the next day. Why can’t they be that well behaved and enthusiastic? Why can’t I come back and teach kids again? Wait, is this really me talking? Will I ever have the chance to go back and be where the wild things are once again?