The beginning is the hardest part, so I won’t start at the
beginning.
I will start with today.
After school.
Every Monday morning and Friday afternoon, nicely bookending the school
week, students and staff attend a brief flag ceremony. The Turks love their flag, I would say even
more than Americans love ours. And if I
were into color symbolism, which I am, I would say that it simply exudes power…. like
a rectangle wearing a little red dress. Rawr.
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| You can see it flying here, right in front of the Bosphorus Bridge. |
During the respective ceremonies, the flag is raised and
lowered and the national anthem is sung.
The Turkish anthem’s tune is much catchier than the Indian anthem’s,
which I always thought was beautiful but difficult to hammer down… especially that
final, trailing note. Turkey’s is much
more marchy and no-nonsense, almost militaristic?
Another symbol of national pride for the Turks is Mustafa Kemal Ataturk; "Ataturk" literally means "Father of the Turks." He was
instrumental in fighting for and reforming the country after the fall of the Ottoman Empire in 1918. He's a figure on par with George
Washington… or would be, if Washington shat gold nuggets. What I mean to say is, he's kind of a big deal. Ataturk's face is prominently displayed in every Turkish classroom–including my own–and he is the face on Turkish lira. In elementary school, I remember making the fronts of dollar bills into mushrooms by folding Georgie’s face in half; that might be borderline blasphemy with Ataturk's face.
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| PHOTOBOMBED BY ATATURK (credit: Evan Handrick) |
But anyway, today’s flag ceremony was simultaneously magical
and frustrating. Magical, because the
Prep students that I teach were actually silent—it’s possible! Frustrating, because the Prep students that I
teach were actually silent—it’s possible, just not for me! (Maybe, instead of constantly stopping class and waiting for them to be quiet, I should just start playing the anthem...) It’s always an adventure figuring out how to
reach a new student culture, especially a culture within a culture that is
different than your own… ahem, TurkeyIndiaAppalachia. I'll figure out out; they really are lovely children.
After the flag ceremony, bolstered by coffee and crisp lira
(about two lira to the dollar, by the way), I decided to do some grocery shopping. In India, this would have required a change
of clothes/shoes, some degree of physical fortitude, and at least a good three hours. But now, I could probably make it
to all of my necessary stops—all within two blocks of school/home—with a paper
bag over my head. But I don’t know why I
would ever do that. That was a weird
illustration of convenience.
What was on my shopping list, you ask?
1. suzme yogurt (the Greekiest Greek yogurt that ever Greeked
its way into my mouth. But Turkish).
2. rice and chickpeas (staples for responsible adulthood)
3. the local version of Nutella (they also have real Nutella,
but the kind I bought comes in a little 2-oz jar of cuteness. I plan to put spices in the container when it’s
gone, which might be within the next 10 minutes.)
4. peaches (because I live in the fricking Garden of Eden and
my peaches are better than yours)
and…
5. toilet paper.
It might just be me, but is anyone else
embarrassed to buy toilet paper? Self-checkout
doesn’t count, and neither does buying a wimpy 4 or 8-roll package that you can
hide underneath everything else you’re buying.
I mean the big-kahuna-bulk-family-size-package, and particularly when that’s the
only thing you’re buying, so you get self-conscious and ‘casually’ throw
in a chocolate bar on top because you think it’ll somehow cover up the toilet paper or at
least divert the cashier’s attention, but in reality it just enhances the
awkwardness because you're looking at chocolate on toilet paper, which just creates unpleasant visual imagery for everyone involved, and then
it doesn’t even fit in the bags so you have to carry it out of the store with
your eyes averted and your imaginary tail tucked between your legs.
Am I right? I know it’s not logical.
I’d rather people know that I use
toilet paper than think that I don’t.
But regardless, I went into a convenience store in search of
this unfortunately necessary item, and the smallest/only packages I could find held
32 rolls. 32! I have no brand loyalty in this new land, so of course I chose the brand that
looked like “Yummy.” The one that featured
the creepy bathroom bunny.
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| Yummy, Yummy, the Bathroom Bunny... will haunt me in my dreams. |
I did the walk of shame up to the counter, completed the
purchase, and was in eye-aversion mode when—hark!—I stepped outside into a
full-blown rainstorm. Rather than describe
the next few minutes of public humiliation, I’ll let you put these pieces together (running, toilet paper, bunny) on your own.
So here I sit in Turkey, cuddling up to a glass of Cumartesi ("Saturday") wine on a Friday night–because I do what I want–and writing about toilet paper.
Welcome to my blog!
