- İstanbul is big. Çok büyük (very big).
- It's much more manageable in the daylight and without a fifty-pound suitcase each.
- The crowded pedway in Alsancak, İzmir was nothing compared to Taksim Square at 10 pm on a Monday night. What are all these people doing? It's like being lost in one of those ultra-packed schools of sardines you see on David Attenborough documentaries.
- For some reason, the busses coming into the İstanbul Otogar (bus station) take you through a labyrinthine basement before surfacing at the terminal. I swear I've seen places like this in my nightmares. First, you see sparse yellow lighting that dims in the distance down the dark tunnels to your right and left. Buses with damaged axels are jacked at strange angles. Other busses have their engines exposed, although no workers are fixing them. The cement beams of the roof of this multi-floored basement are just above the busses' roofs which makes you keenly aware of your own claustrophobia in your dark bus seat. Eventually, you see ramps climbing upward toward the surface (that you hope is above); yet, the ramps are constructed at inclines that you are certain your bus cannot ascend. (The groaning of your bus's engine suggests you are right.) When you do get a rare glimpse ahead, you note at least five busses halted in front of yours. Some drivers use their horns more than others, although it's to no avail. During this bizarre processional, occasionally the light of unexpected terzi (tailor) storefronts shine brightly through the bus windows. The shops, stalls really, advertise cleaning and clothing repairs for bus attendants. White, starched shirts hang like bleached skeletons on crowded racks. Between these shops there's a sitting room with a few men in chairs and a television which resembles the set from Sartre's No Exit. Your bus takes a sharp upward turn that defies the laws of topology. These turns continue as the yellow light of the corridor dims in and out again. Finally, the deep blue night sky begins to appear out the windows, and you continue to ascend to the terminal. When the bus does come to a halt in the middle of a mess of bus traffic, you're let off, given your baggage, and then you're walking through bus traffic three-lanes deep. These massive vehicles slide by your nose like moving walls, and you advance forward one lane at a time until you're finally on the safety of a six-inch curb. Just as you're hoping that soon you can leave this Dante-esque environment behind, Jena says, "I could really use a bathroom." So then you're dipping into the nearest building, following dented backlit signs that promise a WC, and where do they point, but down a stairwell--back down into the gloom. Jena leaves her bag with you, arms herself with one lira to pay for what will probably be an uninspiring squat toilet, and channeling the breath of Eurydice utters, "If I'm not back in ten minutes, you can presume I'm dead."
- Having a tour guide who is also a close friend in İstanbul is AWESOME, especially when she meets you for breakfast in front of your hotel. However, seeing a close friend can make you pretty homesick.
- There are dolphins in the Bosphorus. Who knew?
- Whenever I hear that a place in Turkey is touristy--like İstanbul--I always presume there will be a million annoying American tourists speaking English and sounding dumb. (Like I probably sound.) But, around Turkey, there are lots of Turkish tourists, European tourists, and other Middle Eastern tourists. And a few Asian tourists.
- Street food in Turkey is pretty great, as it is in most places. Today I had my first plain simit (round thing like a bagel) and spent a lot of time contemplating whether or not it was better than a bagel. At this point I side with bagels, but I'd rather make a simit if I were to make one of them at home. That might persuade me to their side.
- I have now been introduced to the best baked potato I've ever had (kumpır). Jena and I plan to emulate it at home. (I didn't necessarily have the toppings described in that picture; I would argue that the ones I selected went better together.)
- Touring a city like İstanbul is freaking tiring. Especially when it's hot. Luckily cold water is pretty cheap and easy to come by.
- Baklava is really tasty. (Duh.)
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
Some of My Thoughts Today and Last Night 8/5/14
Written Yesterday (I think) 8/4/14
At the moment, I’m on a long distance bus ride (to Istanbul) and feeling much more comfortable than I did on my last bus ride (to Izmir). This time it’s daytime, and the bus ride is scheduled to take almost half the time of the last ride. Additionally, I didn’t step onto this bus with the suspicion that I was coming onto a bout of food poisoning.
Now that we’re out of the city of Izmir—the third largest city in Turkey after Istanbul and Ankara, respectively—the landscape is rolling hills covered with green foliage and brown grasses. I see wind farm windmill blades peaking at me from a distance. Groves of farm land for crops I can’t identify sneak into view; their shapes are un-uniform patches of a verdant quilt.
Jena and I have been in Turkey for just about a month, and thanks to our Turkish class, we now have the ability to have basic conversations. Most of these involve a large amount of codeswitching between English and Turkish, and I’m hoping that over time, the ratio of Turkish to English will increase.
If there’s one thing that’s wearing on Jena and me this summer, it’s the lack of work. I wouldn’t say that the two of us are the best candidates for taking a large amount of time off because we both appreciate the regular schedule that work provides and the assurance that what one is doing on a daily basis is making a difference either to others or to oneself. As teachers, I think we tend to favor the notion of making a difference to others, and I know that for myself, I tend to favor the notion of making a monetary difference to my future self. Acknowledging that this extended break from work this summer is making a difference to our current selves is a thought that Jena and I are both likely to avoid since we both have trouble with such self-centered actions. I know on some level, however, that the break is acceptable for us, and that developing a deeper appreciation for work may assist me when it begins on September 1st.
Because we’re scheduled to begin living in Kayseri on August 18th, we now have about fourteen days we’re not sure what to do with. We looked into options like an Aegean tour. We thought about going to Greece. In the end, we have decided to stay in Turkey and tour around. (Largely, this decision resulted from concerns about our visas; they are single-entry, after all.) While this sounds easy on a superficial level, Jena and I are a little wary.
I think my main concern is cost. And when I think about cost, I can accept that we have to pay for our lodging each night. That is fine with me. It’s the notion of eating out, for every meal, that's difficult for me to accept. Jena and I had our first introduction to this phenomenon when we went to Mazatlan, Mexico for a week last year. A week was a little too long, we found out, for us to do nothing. To some extent, the trip turned into conversation after conversation about where we would eat our next meal. Because we were traveling on a budget, these conversations were often quite involved. Here in Turkey, I think we’re going to face a similar pattern unless we can find a place with a kitchen to rent. That’s probably doable; it just comes down to deciding on a location and spending a few hours doing research on the internet.
Whenever I reflect on my concerns about eating out, I often tell myself that I’m not exactly adept at eating out in my regular life. As my friend Heidi can tell you, I decline about a hundred invitations to eat out for every one I accept. Mostly, cost is on my mind because I don’t place a very high value on food. I’d rather, for instance, use my daily living money for gas, beer, and savings.
What this amounts to when traveling is the irrational logic that if I spend all this money on meals out, I have to make a compromise wherein I don’t get the things that I want—gas, beer, savings. I suppose it would be worthwhile for me to remember that on this trip, I’m not spending money on gas (which is quite expensive here), so there’s some consolation for me. As for beer and savings, I’m okay with cutting back on beer consumption. As I think I’ve noted, it’s not very good here anyway. Mineral water isn’t a bad replacement since the carbonation dances in one’s stomach in the same manner as beer. About saving money, Jena and I did take the cost of our travels this summer into account when we created a joint account with the generous monetary gifts for our wedding. Moreover, we’ll be moving to a fairly inexpensive city (Kayseri), and we’ll have at least two major elements of our accommodation covered by our jobs—rent and daily lunches. In other words, maybe, I can put my fears about being miserable and going bankrupt aside for the next fourteen days. It’s going to be okay.
What is really exciting about our first stop on this little self-created Turkey tour is that tomorrow we’ll be meeting up with Özge in Istanbul. Özge was Jena’s housemate in Flagstaff for the past year, and she is from Zungaldok (sp?), a town on the Black Sea. She is an incredibly warm and helpful person, and there have been many instances in this first month, when I have found myself saying, I wish Özge were with us. She’d make this SO much easier.
So we’ll see Özge before she leaves for America. We’re hoping to have her show us how to be a Turk in Turkey. We’re definitely going to do breakfast—what is probably the best meal to get in Turkey—and from there, we might go to the bazaar. Who knows. In any case, it’s going to be awesome to see our good friend on her turf since she dealt with us being know-it-alls about Flagstaff for the past year.
Now that Jena and I are further down the road on this bus ride to Istanbul, the setting looks much the same. I see a minaret poking out of a grove of trees beside the highway. The color of the rock that’s been cut back for the highway is a creamy white. In the distant hills, a high valley cradles a town. The roof tops of the one or two-story structures (an uncommon sight in this country) are a faded red from the clay roof titles.
For myself, it’s time do some reading or tackle some more Turkish grammar and vocabulary while our stop in Istanbul awaits.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Great Day 7/27/14
Unlike last night when I felt I had little to report, today I have a slew of mini-experiences that added up to a great day.
Although I was tired this morning due to a restless night's sleep, Jena got me out to the market (which is 100 yards from our house) to do some weekly grocery shopping. We went to our regular produce vendor, and Jena kept saying, "You got it? Can I go buy the olives now?" I kept asking her what exactly I was supposed to buy, and I excused myself by saying that my head wasn't in the game yet this morning. When Jena finally left me to pick out the tomatoes, onions, and peppers, I continually responded to the vendor in English. Even though the vendor didn't speak English, it still wasn't a problem. I've gotten faster with the numbers (thanks to learning how to tell time in Turkish, and, f***, it's hard), so I got the produce successfully in the end.
After the chores, Jena and I spent some alone time, and my first mission (while Jena stayed at home to do whatever she wanted) was to get some postcards. I first went to this funky used bookstore a little off of the pedway. When I had passed it a day or two prior, I thought it was some nerdy Turkish comic book shop. But that's just the stuff they put outside on the sidewalk during the day. Inside it's like walking through a scene of Alice in Wonderland if it were lined with books. When I asked about postcards--in Turkish!--a worker showed me another two floors of books across the street (alley, really) that contained all their books in English. After sifting through some stacks of maps and used and unused postcards, I finally came away with a few to send home.
So, at that point in the day, I wanted to write my postcards even though it was a Sunday and the eve of Bayram. In other words, there was no chance of those postcards going out anytime soon. But, I didn't have a pen on my, so I had to stop by our apartment. Poor Jena's alone time was the interrupted, but I felt like I already had some new life in me from exploring alone--in a bookstore no less!
Armed with a pen, I then went to one of the back alleys where the cool kids of Alsancak sit around, drinking tea and smoking cigarettes and hookah. Since there's no hiding that I'm a tourist, I plopped down and wrote my postcards at a table.
Actually, a funny thing happened then. The waiter came to my table. I asked for bir çay (a tea). The waiter seemed confused by my pronunciation. He said, bira? I nodded. He said, çay? I nodded. When he left I realized that I may have unintentionally ordered a beer and a tea (bira=beer, çay=tea). Normally, I wouldn't have minded making such a mistake. However, beer is freaking expensive here in Turkey (and it's not that good), and it was the middle of the day on the eve of Bayram. (Ramazan Bayram is probably the most important religious holiday of the year for Muslims.) So I freaked out while he went inside, but when he returned with merely a tea, I was grateful.
After writing some post cards, cramming as many words as I could onto those little things, I took a stroll down the pedway. When stopping by a hat shop, I espied an entrance to a basement mini-mall that I'd never seen before. (I should note that due to Bayram, the downtown area has the eerie sense of a ghost town since many of the Turkish people head to see their families over the three day celebration.) So I go into this mini-mall, and it's exactly the type of place you'd expect to get kidnapped in if you were in a more dangerous country. Every single shop sells knives (mostly pocket-sized), lighters, cigarrette boxes, cigar cutters, and liquor. The place narrowed down into a dead end. A younger guy talked to me, and I have no idea what he said, but when he said the word yabancı (foreigner), I said evet (yes). He left me alone after that. Did I mention that interspersed in this sketchy mini-mall were two whey protein powder shops? So manly. I had to get out of there.
From there I wandered through a shopping district that I had never explored before, and eventually, I ended up at Kültürpark, my favorite part of İzmir. I entered the park with the intention to document it comprehensively with my camera, but unfortunately my camera battery was exhausted the moment I got there. Instead, I have tried to list all the things in Kültürpark which, added together, make the place amazing:
In any case, since my plans to document everything were thwarted, I went to see if our two-legged dog friend was at the vet office where he normally lives. He wasn't. (He recently had an operation, so hopefully he's inside being cared for.) So, I went to the Kedi (Cat) Anthill. There I played with some kittens for a bit and then sat down on a bench to study some Turkish.
Because I've been a little confused about the last two Turkish lessons at our school, I decided to ignore what we are currently learning for now and to forge ahead into the next chapter of the book to teach myself the past tense. After somewhere around two hours, I wrote the following. Basically, it sums up my day in a much more concise and limited way.
Bugün ben şehire gittim. Birinci, kitabevine kartpostalı satın almak gittim. Kitabevinde, adam beni yardım etti. O bene İngilizce kitabın odası ve kartpostalı gösterdi. İkinci, ben eve çünkü kalemi unuttum. Evde Jena oldu. Üçüncü, ben kafeye gittim. Ben çayı içtim, ve kartpostallar ile ben arkadaşlarima ve ailemi yazdım. Sonra, dükkanlarda ben baktım. Dördüncü, ben Kültürparka gittim. Birçok fotoğraflara çekmek istedim, ama benim fotoğraf makinasinin pili öldü. Biber-Hanz'ın evine gittim çünkü yarın ona gördmedim. Ama bugün de ona görmedim. Kedilerin evi ben gittim. Ben çok kediler ile oynadım. Bir saat geçti çünkü bankta ben oturdum ve bu yazdım.
So that's what I did today. I finally got some alone time, and it was just what I needed. I'm a little sunburnt despite applying sunblock twice, but at least it's a reminder of a great time. Here's my mental note to myself to wrap it all up: Take care of yourself, even if that means having alone time. That'll help you stay refreshed and able to be a good husband to Jena.
Below are the photos that I was able to get with my camera before it stopped turning on. Enjoy!
Although I was tired this morning due to a restless night's sleep, Jena got me out to the market (which is 100 yards from our house) to do some weekly grocery shopping. We went to our regular produce vendor, and Jena kept saying, "You got it? Can I go buy the olives now?" I kept asking her what exactly I was supposed to buy, and I excused myself by saying that my head wasn't in the game yet this morning. When Jena finally left me to pick out the tomatoes, onions, and peppers, I continually responded to the vendor in English. Even though the vendor didn't speak English, it still wasn't a problem. I've gotten faster with the numbers (thanks to learning how to tell time in Turkish, and, f***, it's hard), so I got the produce successfully in the end.
After the chores, Jena and I spent some alone time, and my first mission (while Jena stayed at home to do whatever she wanted) was to get some postcards. I first went to this funky used bookstore a little off of the pedway. When I had passed it a day or two prior, I thought it was some nerdy Turkish comic book shop. But that's just the stuff they put outside on the sidewalk during the day. Inside it's like walking through a scene of Alice in Wonderland if it were lined with books. When I asked about postcards--in Turkish!--a worker showed me another two floors of books across the street (alley, really) that contained all their books in English. After sifting through some stacks of maps and used and unused postcards, I finally came away with a few to send home.
So, at that point in the day, I wanted to write my postcards even though it was a Sunday and the eve of Bayram. In other words, there was no chance of those postcards going out anytime soon. But, I didn't have a pen on my, so I had to stop by our apartment. Poor Jena's alone time was the interrupted, but I felt like I already had some new life in me from exploring alone--in a bookstore no less!
Armed with a pen, I then went to one of the back alleys where the cool kids of Alsancak sit around, drinking tea and smoking cigarettes and hookah. Since there's no hiding that I'm a tourist, I plopped down and wrote my postcards at a table.
Actually, a funny thing happened then. The waiter came to my table. I asked for bir çay (a tea). The waiter seemed confused by my pronunciation. He said, bira? I nodded. He said, çay? I nodded. When he left I realized that I may have unintentionally ordered a beer and a tea (bira=beer, çay=tea). Normally, I wouldn't have minded making such a mistake. However, beer is freaking expensive here in Turkey (and it's not that good), and it was the middle of the day on the eve of Bayram. (Ramazan Bayram is probably the most important religious holiday of the year for Muslims.) So I freaked out while he went inside, but when he returned with merely a tea, I was grateful.
After writing some post cards, cramming as many words as I could onto those little things, I took a stroll down the pedway. When stopping by a hat shop, I espied an entrance to a basement mini-mall that I'd never seen before. (I should note that due to Bayram, the downtown area has the eerie sense of a ghost town since many of the Turkish people head to see their families over the three day celebration.) So I go into this mini-mall, and it's exactly the type of place you'd expect to get kidnapped in if you were in a more dangerous country. Every single shop sells knives (mostly pocket-sized), lighters, cigarrette boxes, cigar cutters, and liquor. The place narrowed down into a dead end. A younger guy talked to me, and I have no idea what he said, but when he said the word yabancı (foreigner), I said evet (yes). He left me alone after that. Did I mention that interspersed in this sketchy mini-mall were two whey protein powder shops? So manly. I had to get out of there.
From there I wandered through a shopping district that I had never explored before, and eventually, I ended up at Kültürpark, my favorite part of İzmir. I entered the park with the intention to document it comprehensively with my camera, but unfortunately my camera battery was exhausted the moment I got there. Instead, I have tried to list all the things in Kültürpark which, added together, make the place amazing:
- Multiple Guarded Entrances - These make the park easy to access and provide a sense of safety. Admission is free.
- Two Mosques - One is big, and one is small.
- An 1800 Meter Running Track - My record is probably around six fifty after running three or four laps.
- A Public Swimming Pool
- A Long Strip of Fountains Lined by Palm Trees
- An Art and History Museum
- A Tower for a Sky Diving School - No s***!
- A Pond with Paddleboats and Islands to Boat Around - The water is really brown, though.
- A Mini-Amusement Park Comprised of Carnivale Rides - Jena and I road the huge ferris wheel on our third day here. There's a new ride called The Wave or something that is even taller than the ferris wheel. I might have to ride it before we leave.
- Lots of Food Vendor Stands
- An Informal Theater - I thought a public prayer was going on in there today. Then I kept listening. I think it turned out to be a Turkish hiphop soundcheck.
- A Formal Theater - This is a small outdoor amphitheater for classical music concerts.
- Indoor and Outdoor Tennis Courts
- A Tennis Clubhouse
- Small Outdoor Enclosed Football (Soccer) Fields
- Two or Three Outdoor Workout Areas with These Wacky Exercise Machines
- At Least One Big Playground for Kids
- A Police Station
- A Veterinarian Clinic
- Three Massive Conference Room Buildings
- An Underground Parking Garage
- And FINALLY Plenty of Stray Dogs and Cats to Go Around for Everyone
That's why Kültürpark is worth visiting every day that we are here. (In fact, today I went there twice.)
In any case, since my plans to document everything were thwarted, I went to see if our two-legged dog friend was at the vet office where he normally lives. He wasn't. (He recently had an operation, so hopefully he's inside being cared for.) So, I went to the Kedi (Cat) Anthill. There I played with some kittens for a bit and then sat down on a bench to study some Turkish.
Because I've been a little confused about the last two Turkish lessons at our school, I decided to ignore what we are currently learning for now and to forge ahead into the next chapter of the book to teach myself the past tense. After somewhere around two hours, I wrote the following. Basically, it sums up my day in a much more concise and limited way.
Bugün ben şehire gittim. Birinci, kitabevine kartpostalı satın almak gittim. Kitabevinde, adam beni yardım etti. O bene İngilizce kitabın odası ve kartpostalı gösterdi. İkinci, ben eve çünkü kalemi unuttum. Evde Jena oldu. Üçüncü, ben kafeye gittim. Ben çayı içtim, ve kartpostallar ile ben arkadaşlarima ve ailemi yazdım. Sonra, dükkanlarda ben baktım. Dördüncü, ben Kültürparka gittim. Birçok fotoğraflara çekmek istedim, ama benim fotoğraf makinasinin pili öldü. Biber-Hanz'ın evine gittim çünkü yarın ona gördmedim. Ama bugün de ona görmedim. Kedilerin evi ben gittim. Ben çok kediler ile oynadım. Bir saat geçti çünkü bankta ben oturdum ve bu yazdım.
So that's what I did today. I finally got some alone time, and it was just what I needed. I'm a little sunburnt despite applying sunblock twice, but at least it's a reminder of a great time. Here's my mental note to myself to wrap it all up: Take care of yourself, even if that means having alone time. That'll help you stay refreshed and able to be a good husband to Jena.
Below are the photos that I was able to get with my camera before it stopped turning on. Enjoy!
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| The Desolate Pedway of Alsancak |
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| A Roundabout Near an Entrance to Kültürpark |
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| Cool Towers over an Entrance to Kültürpark |
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| The Small Mosque at Kültürpark |
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| Statues to Greet You in Kültürpark |
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| A Mess of Amusements |
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| This is what happens when you study Turkish near the Kedi Anthill for one hour. |
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| This is what happens when you study Turkish near the Kedi Anthill for two hours. |
Saturday, July 26, 2014
İzmir Update 7/26/14
Hello again eworld. I haven't posted for a few days because my last post ended up on the cutting room floor. It was mainly about a book I just finished reading called Always Know What to Say and about how the book's content can be applied to second language learning. In the end, the post was a stream-of-consciousness mess, but I did really like one section I wrote. It went like this:
But like I said, the post didn't really work out.
Tonight I'm here to make a marvellous comeback by listing Three Things That Have Been on My Mind:
1) Cats
There is a park in İzmir called İzmir Kültürpark. At İzmir Kültürpark, there is an outside area maintained by a nice man named Erkan that houses somewhere around forty cats, most of which are kittens. Erkan keeps the cat houses as clean as he can and feeds and waters the cats daily. He's a saint. Today there was a dead kitten (there's a lot of sickness going on--eye infections, colds, etc.), and he gave it a proper burial. It's easy to tell that he loves the cats, and he seems excited that Jena and I come to visit the cats most days. Just the other night Erkan found some pieces of rope for Jena and me, and we played with kittens for over an hour.
For the record, I'm pretty sure these kittens are safe to pet. Jena and I don't get too intimate with them, but once in a while one will climb up your leg. Or, you'll have the uncontrollable impulse to pick up one of the babies. If you're on a bench, sometimes they step into your lap. Since I was initially quite worried about touching the cats, I did as much internet research as I could. Essentially, people who seemed to know what they were talking about said cats would be okay to interact with.
As some ground rules of sorts, Jena and I only pet and play with the ones at the park, where there's a vet office. (Isn't that nuts? A vet office in a public park, which I think is dedicated to stray pets.) And we usually shower and wash our clothes immediately when we get home, depending on how close we got to the cats.
So far we have no problems to report. I do have an odd, small red spot on my arm, but I'm pretty sure that's from our sketchy mattress here in our apartment since I was getting those before we ever touched any cats.
2) School
Our language class is steadily progressing, although it's wearing me out a bit. Jena and I have realized that our teacher probably isn't paid to prepare lessons; she teaches eight hours a day. Consequently, during the majority of each lesson, we complete exercises in our textbooks. Depending on the day, some longer periods are broken up with explanations of grammar points that are in the book.
Jena and I are benefitting from the class, though. First, we're getting a good foundation for learning more Turkish during communicative interactions that we're bound to have over the next two years. Second, we're getting some incredible insight into the trials and tribulations of language learners. Coincidentally, last summer Jena and I both taught beginning English classes that only had two students. Jena taught Listening and Speaking, and I taught Reading and Writing. Based on my experiences as a student this summer, there are so many things that I would have done differently. So, despite my current frustration and ennui with the Turkish class, I am making progress as a language learner and I am learning how to be a better teacher.
3) Alone Time
Jena pointed out that we have been in İzmir for three full weeks today. We really haven't spent much time alone. We're kind of alone when we exercise--when I'm running and Jena's running, walking, and using the park's outdoor exercise equipment. But that's about it. This week we tried an experiment to change up the routine. I went to the park to exercise, and she stayed here to do yoga. It was successful, and I even got a little freaked out (in a good way) when I left the apartment because I realized I had never gone anywhere here alone before.
It's certainly a strange feeling to be around someone approximately twenty-four hours a day for three solid weeks. It has been really great at times, and it has been challenging at others. Some moments Jena and I look at each other and realize that we both just need a break.
I know that things will be different in Kayseri, and Jena does as well. Right now we're still feeling out how safe things are for one another in certain areas. (Most seem pretty safe.) And we're feeling out one another's personalities as travellers. While some people might readily go separate ways to explore, Jena and I appear to be the type to make carefully calculated decisions that include the other person. We're security guards for one another, but we're also able to drive the other person up the wall once in a while.
When we get settled in a permanent residence, things will sort themselves out. Jena and I will inevitably develop separate friendships, and work will provide us with the alone time we're used to. For now, we're just learning how to be a newly married couple in somewhat bizarre circumstances where we're destined to see each other most moments of the day.
To conclude, it's now past midnight, which is time to go to bed (even if it is a five-day weekend--thank you Ramazan). Jena and I will be heading to Istanbul to see Özge in a little over a week, and the change of setting ought to do our spirits some good. From there we don't even know where we'll go. Ankara, Antalya? Who knows.
I’m a cheapskate. That’s how I came across the book I’m currently reading. The other night I finished Valley of Wild Horses by Zane Grey, a book I don’t particularly recommend, and now I’m reading another which I’ll say more about here. Before I get there, though, I’ll point out to my fellow Kindle owners that both of these books are free.
Now that I have a Kindle, I’ve been scouring the Free on Kindle books on Amazon. At this point, I have no intentions to buy a book for my Kindle as long as I can. (These are the weird sort of Faustian deals that cheapskates make with themselves.) Thus, I am limited to three kinds of reading material: First, there are books in the public domain (which is how I came across Valley of Wild Horses. And then there are samples of books (twenty-thirty page excerpts). Sometimes these samples are interesting for checking out those authors whom I don’t really like but are sort of worth paying attention to because they’re prominent contemporary voices—Dave Eggers, Johnathan Franzen, Joshua Ferris, etc. Finally, there are the free contemporary books and stories that they give away on Kindle for free because, well, they kinda suck. For the this reason, I’m now reading Always Know to Say. It’s a self-help book that I’m embarrassingly getting quite a bit out of as long as I ignore the style of the author's prose and focus on the gist.
But like I said, the post didn't really work out.
Tonight I'm here to make a marvellous comeback by listing Three Things That Have Been on My Mind:
1) Cats
There is a park in İzmir called İzmir Kültürpark. At İzmir Kültürpark, there is an outside area maintained by a nice man named Erkan that houses somewhere around forty cats, most of which are kittens. Erkan keeps the cat houses as clean as he can and feeds and waters the cats daily. He's a saint. Today there was a dead kitten (there's a lot of sickness going on--eye infections, colds, etc.), and he gave it a proper burial. It's easy to tell that he loves the cats, and he seems excited that Jena and I come to visit the cats most days. Just the other night Erkan found some pieces of rope for Jena and me, and we played with kittens for over an hour.
For the record, I'm pretty sure these kittens are safe to pet. Jena and I don't get too intimate with them, but once in a while one will climb up your leg. Or, you'll have the uncontrollable impulse to pick up one of the babies. If you're on a bench, sometimes they step into your lap. Since I was initially quite worried about touching the cats, I did as much internet research as I could. Essentially, people who seemed to know what they were talking about said cats would be okay to interact with.
As some ground rules of sorts, Jena and I only pet and play with the ones at the park, where there's a vet office. (Isn't that nuts? A vet office in a public park, which I think is dedicated to stray pets.) And we usually shower and wash our clothes immediately when we get home, depending on how close we got to the cats.
So far we have no problems to report. I do have an odd, small red spot on my arm, but I'm pretty sure that's from our sketchy mattress here in our apartment since I was getting those before we ever touched any cats.
2) School
Our language class is steadily progressing, although it's wearing me out a bit. Jena and I have realized that our teacher probably isn't paid to prepare lessons; she teaches eight hours a day. Consequently, during the majority of each lesson, we complete exercises in our textbooks. Depending on the day, some longer periods are broken up with explanations of grammar points that are in the book.
Jena and I are benefitting from the class, though. First, we're getting a good foundation for learning more Turkish during communicative interactions that we're bound to have over the next two years. Second, we're getting some incredible insight into the trials and tribulations of language learners. Coincidentally, last summer Jena and I both taught beginning English classes that only had two students. Jena taught Listening and Speaking, and I taught Reading and Writing. Based on my experiences as a student this summer, there are so many things that I would have done differently. So, despite my current frustration and ennui with the Turkish class, I am making progress as a language learner and I am learning how to be a better teacher.
3) Alone Time
Jena pointed out that we have been in İzmir for three full weeks today. We really haven't spent much time alone. We're kind of alone when we exercise--when I'm running and Jena's running, walking, and using the park's outdoor exercise equipment. But that's about it. This week we tried an experiment to change up the routine. I went to the park to exercise, and she stayed here to do yoga. It was successful, and I even got a little freaked out (in a good way) when I left the apartment because I realized I had never gone anywhere here alone before.
It's certainly a strange feeling to be around someone approximately twenty-four hours a day for three solid weeks. It has been really great at times, and it has been challenging at others. Some moments Jena and I look at each other and realize that we both just need a break.
I know that things will be different in Kayseri, and Jena does as well. Right now we're still feeling out how safe things are for one another in certain areas. (Most seem pretty safe.) And we're feeling out one another's personalities as travellers. While some people might readily go separate ways to explore, Jena and I appear to be the type to make carefully calculated decisions that include the other person. We're security guards for one another, but we're also able to drive the other person up the wall once in a while.
When we get settled in a permanent residence, things will sort themselves out. Jena and I will inevitably develop separate friendships, and work will provide us with the alone time we're used to. For now, we're just learning how to be a newly married couple in somewhat bizarre circumstances where we're destined to see each other most moments of the day.
To conclude, it's now past midnight, which is time to go to bed (even if it is a five-day weekend--thank you Ramazan). Jena and I will be heading to Istanbul to see Özge in a little over a week, and the change of setting ought to do our spirits some good. From there we don't even know where we'll go. Ankara, Antalya? Who knows.
Saturday, July 19, 2014
Problem Solving the Old Fashioned Way 7/19/20
This blog post goes out to Adam. I thought of him today while Jena and I were out on our most recent adventure because I found myself stopping to pay attention to the smaller details of the city and the surrounding area of the place we visited. Adam has this habit of closely scrutinizing the smaller idiosyncrasies of a new place when he has the luxury of time on his side. He seems to soak up a location's life this way.
Today I spent more time with the details since I didn't have a camera. In fact, my strategy for today's trip was to travel as lightly as possible, with only a backpack filled with a few supplies--ID, bathing suit, water bottle, sunblock, towel, Turkish phrasebook, three photocopied pages of Turkish homework, a pencil, a pad of paper with a few directions written on it. As far as money, I only brought enough cash to get to our destination and back. Jena did the same, although she threw in a credit card. We were headed to the beach, and I have irrational paranoia about theft at the beach.
Cesme is a town near Izmir, Turkey that is known for its beaches. They are long, and the water is only six feet deep for about two hundred yards out from the sand. The bottom is sandy, and apparently there are hot springs that seep into the water to keep it temperate. Jena and I heard about the Cesme from numerous sources, so this weekend we decided to untangle the ratsnest of public transportation logistics that it would take to get there.
On Friday at school, I told the director that we'd be heading to Cesme on Saturday. When it came down to directions, he switched over to English and provided me with some basic information about the bus we should take to the main bus station. Because he had never spoken to me in English before, I felt I was breaking the rules, and I didn't press him for many specifics. Possibly as a consequence, Jena and I woke at six, went to our bus stop and waited for fifty minutes without seeing our bus. Because of the general pain-in-the-ass-ed-ness of navigating an unfamiliar city where you speak about fifty words of the language, I considered bagging the whole trip. Jena, however, reminded me that we could just take a taxi to the bus station. So we did.
So we get dropped off on the sidewalk in front of a busy building and we don't even know where to go in. Not only is our language limited, but the signage was lacking as well. We do what we so often do as new residents here, and we just followed some other people into the building. So then we walk the entire row of bus company desks. No dice. Thankfully someone asks us if we need help, and he sends us to another floor. We're ecstatic by the time we find the right counter, and I bust out more friendlier Turkish than normal during the service encounter. Finally, we're on the bus to our town, and we have fifty minutes of that luxury of no problem solving.
When we arrived in the Cesme area, the bus began stopping at towns along the way, and this was an added bonus since my directions that I had memorized from tripadvisor.com said we'd have to go to the main bus station first. With a stroke of luck, Jena and I heard the name of the beach we wanted, and we hopped off the bus. Without a clue in the world of which way to turn, Jena said, "Follow the guy in the bathing suit." So we did.
At the beach we got back on the tripadvisor.com itinerary and rented two chairs and an umbrella on the beach. The guy asked us in English whether we wanted sun or shadow, and I said, "Yes, shadow." He stuck us next to this shed for the beach chair cushions, and Jena and I set down our backpacks, and headed to the changing rooms. During this time, this woman who presumably worked at the beach came up to us and pointed out where everything was--changing rooms, the bathroom, the shower--and it was actually very helpful. Still unsure of how the place worked, Jena and I went about our business.
I got back to the chairs prior to Jena, and I swore to god my backpack wasn't how I had left it. It was a right angle to the chair's cushion (something I would never do), and the zippers were slightly ajar. It even looked kind of sandy as if someone with sandy hands had touched it.
I quickly constructed the story to myself. The beach workers had seen that we were tourists. They had stuck us in the "shadow" because the building conveniently blocked the view of those particular chairs from the changing area. The woman had stalled us on our way to the changing area. It was an inside job! I was furious.
But nothing was missing. I had taken our money, IDs, and credit card with me to the changing area because I knew I would be leaving my backpack there. I had everything now secured in double ziplock bags in my pocket so that I could swim with it. And while Jena and I put our sunblock on, I realized that I had probably been pretty casual with my backpack when I had removed my swimsuit. I didn't need to close the zippers all the way (as if that would have actually stopped someone) because there was nothing valuable in my backpack. I didn't need to put my backpack at a precise parallel angle with the beach chair because that sort of superstitious action wasn't needed to ward off any pickpockets. In other words, everything was okay. An attempted theft might not have occurred.
Jena and I then began to enjoy our day. We swam in the warm clean light blue water. We went for walks along the beach, leaving our bags unattended, mind you. I tried to nap on the chair, and when I realized I couldn't, Jena and I went swimming again.
One thing I love about Jena is her ability to come up for games for us to play and her willingness to engage in mine. We dragged each other around in the shallow water. Jena and I had been constructing a fantasy that we had our two-legged dog friend (see photos on Facebook) with us, and we imagined what he would have done in the water. Tiring from that, we swam to the bottom and gathered sand that we could pack into a ball and throw to one another until the ball disintegrated away.
Once we left the beach, we took a walk to the harbor so that I could ogle the boats. I told Jena of how my father had taken my brother and I to do this whenever we encountered a harbor during our travels around the world. Following this walk, we had a commendable lunch of Turkish hamburgers (mistranslated on the menu in English as hamnurgers) capped off with Turkish coffee.
Although it would be nice to wrap up this story with a simple, and then we came home, few things here involving transportation transpire as simply as would be desirable. We successfully took the bus to Izmir but were dropped off not at the main bus station, but on a busy street that was somewhat near an alternate bus station. I suggested we look for a bus that said the name of our neighborhood and ride it with a hope and a prayer. Jena suggested we take a ferry instead, since our tickets for the public transportation in Izmir were good for that form of transport too. We walked toward the ferry station (hilariously spelled ferribot here), and halfway there a highway interrupted our path. We could nearly see the station. I could feel that it was just beyond the highway. Jena mentioned the idea of giving up and trying to take a bus. I countered, and we pushed on, luckily finding a crosswalk later on down the road.
The ferry station was desolate, and our Turkish isn't quite good enough to read the schedules accurately. Jena used her ticket to pass through a gate toward a boat anyhow, and a man came out of nowhere to ask where we were headed. He basically said, Nope, none of these ferries are going where you want to go today. But thankfully he helped us out to determine a circuitous route, using ferries, to get back to our neighborhood, but there was a catch--we'd have to wait for at least a half hour.
I was all set to wait. Jena pointed out some rental bicycles that we'd seen on the way in. They were city-sponsored and looked affordable, though they required using a machine, mostly in Turkish, to rent them. Jena used her credit card, and we think that they may have actually been free to ride, as long as you returned them. We then tried to get them out of their locks. These were controlled by little digital screens that were nearly impossible to read, given the glare from the evening sunlight. We persisted, both of us, at times, acting as if we might as well just give up. When the first bike came free from its lock, I mentioned to Jena that each one of us would be screwed if we were traveling alone, but together we can do almost anything. Jena called this a metaphor for our marriage.
And then we finally did come home, riding bikes as the evening sun came down over Izmir's bay. We dodged what seemed like hundreds of people walking in the middle of the bike path. It seems that the city of Izmir is encouraging bicycling, but the residents haven't necessarily caught on. I said to Jena that this must be what it's like to put in a new bike path in Dallas or someplace that isn't quite ready for transportation that promotes health. That, or the people walking on the bike path were just tourists, not really sure which way is up and down, trying to get from here to there without too much going wrong.
Today I spent more time with the details since I didn't have a camera. In fact, my strategy for today's trip was to travel as lightly as possible, with only a backpack filled with a few supplies--ID, bathing suit, water bottle, sunblock, towel, Turkish phrasebook, three photocopied pages of Turkish homework, a pencil, a pad of paper with a few directions written on it. As far as money, I only brought enough cash to get to our destination and back. Jena did the same, although she threw in a credit card. We were headed to the beach, and I have irrational paranoia about theft at the beach.
Cesme is a town near Izmir, Turkey that is known for its beaches. They are long, and the water is only six feet deep for about two hundred yards out from the sand. The bottom is sandy, and apparently there are hot springs that seep into the water to keep it temperate. Jena and I heard about the Cesme from numerous sources, so this weekend we decided to untangle the ratsnest of public transportation logistics that it would take to get there.
On Friday at school, I told the director that we'd be heading to Cesme on Saturday. When it came down to directions, he switched over to English and provided me with some basic information about the bus we should take to the main bus station. Because he had never spoken to me in English before, I felt I was breaking the rules, and I didn't press him for many specifics. Possibly as a consequence, Jena and I woke at six, went to our bus stop and waited for fifty minutes without seeing our bus. Because of the general pain-in-the-ass-ed-ness of navigating an unfamiliar city where you speak about fifty words of the language, I considered bagging the whole trip. Jena, however, reminded me that we could just take a taxi to the bus station. So we did.
So we get dropped off on the sidewalk in front of a busy building and we don't even know where to go in. Not only is our language limited, but the signage was lacking as well. We do what we so often do as new residents here, and we just followed some other people into the building. So then we walk the entire row of bus company desks. No dice. Thankfully someone asks us if we need help, and he sends us to another floor. We're ecstatic by the time we find the right counter, and I bust out more friendlier Turkish than normal during the service encounter. Finally, we're on the bus to our town, and we have fifty minutes of that luxury of no problem solving.
When we arrived in the Cesme area, the bus began stopping at towns along the way, and this was an added bonus since my directions that I had memorized from tripadvisor.com said we'd have to go to the main bus station first. With a stroke of luck, Jena and I heard the name of the beach we wanted, and we hopped off the bus. Without a clue in the world of which way to turn, Jena said, "Follow the guy in the bathing suit." So we did.
At the beach we got back on the tripadvisor.com itinerary and rented two chairs and an umbrella on the beach. The guy asked us in English whether we wanted sun or shadow, and I said, "Yes, shadow." He stuck us next to this shed for the beach chair cushions, and Jena and I set down our backpacks, and headed to the changing rooms. During this time, this woman who presumably worked at the beach came up to us and pointed out where everything was--changing rooms, the bathroom, the shower--and it was actually very helpful. Still unsure of how the place worked, Jena and I went about our business.
I got back to the chairs prior to Jena, and I swore to god my backpack wasn't how I had left it. It was a right angle to the chair's cushion (something I would never do), and the zippers were slightly ajar. It even looked kind of sandy as if someone with sandy hands had touched it.
I quickly constructed the story to myself. The beach workers had seen that we were tourists. They had stuck us in the "shadow" because the building conveniently blocked the view of those particular chairs from the changing area. The woman had stalled us on our way to the changing area. It was an inside job! I was furious.
But nothing was missing. I had taken our money, IDs, and credit card with me to the changing area because I knew I would be leaving my backpack there. I had everything now secured in double ziplock bags in my pocket so that I could swim with it. And while Jena and I put our sunblock on, I realized that I had probably been pretty casual with my backpack when I had removed my swimsuit. I didn't need to close the zippers all the way (as if that would have actually stopped someone) because there was nothing valuable in my backpack. I didn't need to put my backpack at a precise parallel angle with the beach chair because that sort of superstitious action wasn't needed to ward off any pickpockets. In other words, everything was okay. An attempted theft might not have occurred.
Jena and I then began to enjoy our day. We swam in the warm clean light blue water. We went for walks along the beach, leaving our bags unattended, mind you. I tried to nap on the chair, and when I realized I couldn't, Jena and I went swimming again.
One thing I love about Jena is her ability to come up for games for us to play and her willingness to engage in mine. We dragged each other around in the shallow water. Jena and I had been constructing a fantasy that we had our two-legged dog friend (see photos on Facebook) with us, and we imagined what he would have done in the water. Tiring from that, we swam to the bottom and gathered sand that we could pack into a ball and throw to one another until the ball disintegrated away.
Once we left the beach, we took a walk to the harbor so that I could ogle the boats. I told Jena of how my father had taken my brother and I to do this whenever we encountered a harbor during our travels around the world. Following this walk, we had a commendable lunch of Turkish hamburgers (mistranslated on the menu in English as hamnurgers) capped off with Turkish coffee.
Although it would be nice to wrap up this story with a simple, and then we came home, few things here involving transportation transpire as simply as would be desirable. We successfully took the bus to Izmir but were dropped off not at the main bus station, but on a busy street that was somewhat near an alternate bus station. I suggested we look for a bus that said the name of our neighborhood and ride it with a hope and a prayer. Jena suggested we take a ferry instead, since our tickets for the public transportation in Izmir were good for that form of transport too. We walked toward the ferry station (hilariously spelled ferribot here), and halfway there a highway interrupted our path. We could nearly see the station. I could feel that it was just beyond the highway. Jena mentioned the idea of giving up and trying to take a bus. I countered, and we pushed on, luckily finding a crosswalk later on down the road.
The ferry station was desolate, and our Turkish isn't quite good enough to read the schedules accurately. Jena used her ticket to pass through a gate toward a boat anyhow, and a man came out of nowhere to ask where we were headed. He basically said, Nope, none of these ferries are going where you want to go today. But thankfully he helped us out to determine a circuitous route, using ferries, to get back to our neighborhood, but there was a catch--we'd have to wait for at least a half hour.
I was all set to wait. Jena pointed out some rental bicycles that we'd seen on the way in. They were city-sponsored and looked affordable, though they required using a machine, mostly in Turkish, to rent them. Jena used her credit card, and we think that they may have actually been free to ride, as long as you returned them. We then tried to get them out of their locks. These were controlled by little digital screens that were nearly impossible to read, given the glare from the evening sunlight. We persisted, both of us, at times, acting as if we might as well just give up. When the first bike came free from its lock, I mentioned to Jena that each one of us would be screwed if we were traveling alone, but together we can do almost anything. Jena called this a metaphor for our marriage.
And then we finally did come home, riding bikes as the evening sun came down over Izmir's bay. We dodged what seemed like hundreds of people walking in the middle of the bike path. It seems that the city of Izmir is encouraging bicycling, but the residents haven't necessarily caught on. I said to Jena that this must be what it's like to put in a new bike path in Dallas or someplace that isn't quite ready for transportation that promotes health. That, or the people walking on the bike path were just tourists, not really sure which way is up and down, trying to get from here to there without too much going wrong.
Thursday, July 17, 2014
What I Sound Like in Turkish (Thirty-Two Hours Down, Forty-Four to Go) 7/17/14
Do you have water?
Be quiet.
Jena lazy.
Jena hardworking.
I sit at Amerika.
Today hot.
My teacher happy.
Very tired.
Cats.
Dogs.
Lots of cats.
Lots of dogs.
I love food.
I say lots of English.
I say a little Turkish.
(If you give me about seven more minutes, I can come up with another phrase or sentence. Watch out.)
Be quiet.
Jena lazy.
Jena hardworking.
I sit at Amerika.
Today hot.
My teacher happy.
Very tired.
Cats.
Dogs.
Lots of cats.
Lots of dogs.
I love food.
I say lots of English.
I say a little Turkish.
(If you give me about seven more minutes, I can come up with another phrase or sentence. Watch out.)
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Turkish Tourism Industry 7/15/14
I haven't had good experiences with the tourism industry in Mexico. Having traveled to Cabo San Lucas, Mazatlan, and Mexico City, among other places, much of the tourism industry seems to run on aggressively luring customers into shelling out money. Take for instance the process of merely having a meal out in Cabo San Lucas. I remember taking one step down the sidewalk of a main street with my family when we were abruptly and too energetically approached by a host of a restaurant. He spoke persistently to my mother and father as we attempted to get the faintest idea of what the menu had to offer. At this point in the trip we had already grown weary of this system of accosting tourists, so we just gave in and took a damn seat. The experience worsened as a guy who appeared to be a manager asked how our meal was. We mistakenly engaged with him, and soon he began his spiel about timeshares and how for two hours of our time we could get a fifty percent discount on parasailing or a thirty percent discount at a spa. When he finally left, leaving our mouths bitter for the food in this restaurant, a three person guitar band came to our table and played a song in our faces that none of us wanted to hear. Because the band had "entertained" us, they waited around for us to give them money. If I had my way, I would have stalemated them for the rest of the night, though I think someone in my family doled out some pesos to get rid of them. Throughout my traveling to Mexico, I wish I could say this meal was an exception to my experiences with the Mexican tourism industry, but unfortunately it is not.
I have begun to realize here in Turkey that my defenses are going up, somewhat unjustly, during the first moments of my interactions. The pattern seems to be that that hosts and others simply want to announce themselves to you. And once they do, you can just tell them what's on your mind like, "I'm just looking" or "No thanks" and they'll leave you alone. There's less badgering, chasing, and unwanted negotiation than I've experienced in Mexico.
Experiences such as the one that happened tonight has happened more times than I can count during our first two weeks in Turkey. I credit the warmth and respectfulness of the Turkish people at large. My intention is to make an effort to be a more fluid in my interactions with vendors, to lend them a little more patience because there's a good chance they won't be irritate me. They'll say what they have to offer, and I'll be free to say what I'm thinking. Then, depending on how I'm feeling and what Jena and I want or need, we can all go on our ways.
So here I am in Turkey now, and yes, Turkey does have some similarities with Mexico. First off, parts of it look similar, especially insofar as its infrastructure. Each day Jena and I walk past an apartment building that is under construction. Bricks are being laid for an outside wall as far as three stories up. There are no cones to tell one to step around the immediate area below. There are not signs suggesting to watch for falling material. When we first arrived there was this humungous piece of see-through fabric covering part of the wall--as if that could save someone from a fractured skull--but it has since gone by the wayside. During the day, as bricks are being laid, buckets of gray sand (what I presume is an ingredient for the mortar) are hauled up by a jury-rigged pulley system. These buckets swing a little too wildly overhead. Because I haven't seen this sort of construction craziness in many other places, save Indonesia where things are actually a lot more dangerous, I don't blame myself, then, for presuming my interactions with the people here in Turkey would be similar to interactions in Mexico as well.
But today I'm here to say that my interactions are not similar, and I've come to realize that I am not giving the Turkish tourism industry credit where it is due.
Thus far, I have had many experiences where someone has spoken to me regarding their services, and while I have initially presumed the person has an ulterior motive of duping me out of some money, I have been quite wrong. Tonight for instance, Jena and I were walking through an alley on our way home from the waterfront. In our neighborhood there are a slew of little alleys where restaurants, bars, and coffee shops are crammed into interstices. These off-the-path establishments have a bit more character than the ones on the main pedway, and if I were a permanent resident here, these would be the places where I'd want to be a regular. The clientele doesn't necessarily look friendly, but they certainly look cool.
So we're walking through this alley, and a host outside one of these restaurants greets us in English. He says, "Hello" and "Welcome," and tells us that his restaurant has cheap prices on drinks and food. In our neighborhood Jena and I get this sort of greeting a lot from hosts on the pedway since we're obviously tourists, and hosts seem to have a desire to show us that they can speak English. My default reaction, which has become a habit from experiences in Mexico, is to a) ignore the person or b) say no thanks in whichever language comes out first--Turkish or English--and ignore the person. I feel like I've been hardened by all the tourism interactions of my past.
But this interaction is different. The host is telling us about the perks of his restaurants, and meanwhile Jena and I are ignoring him and walking away. And then the host tags something onto the end. He says, "If you want come in, I can help you." From his tone and his words it becomes clear that he actually wants us to make us a good decision for ourselves, and that if we have any questions, he'll be happy to answer them. If we want to have a seat at his restaurant, he's the guy to see.
I have begun to realize here in Turkey that my defenses are going up, somewhat unjustly, during the first moments of my interactions. The pattern seems to be that that hosts and others simply want to announce themselves to you. And once they do, you can just tell them what's on your mind like, "I'm just looking" or "No thanks" and they'll leave you alone. There's less badgering, chasing, and unwanted negotiation than I've experienced in Mexico.
Experiences such as the one that happened tonight has happened more times than I can count during our first two weeks in Turkey. I credit the warmth and respectfulness of the Turkish people at large. My intention is to make an effort to be a more fluid in my interactions with vendors, to lend them a little more patience because there's a good chance they won't be irritate me. They'll say what they have to offer, and I'll be free to say what I'm thinking. Then, depending on how I'm feeling and what Jena and I want or need, we can all go on our ways.
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