Chapter 6

The best places in life don't have giftshops.

Following a close second, are places that lack real roads.

When you put the two together, stir, and cook over charcoal with a tomato on top, you get the village of Old Red Apple.

Accessible only by enrolling in Rural Sociology (or by dirt road), this village is located high in the mountains near Bursa. It's remote enough that the driver got lost three times (because he took directions from other Turks), yet modern enough that the school has a computer- with internet.

The Old Red Apple is home to about 500 villagers. It gets its name from the apple trees that used to grow there, until poor land use resulted in an extinction of apple trees from that area. On the bright side, if they ever wanted to make it into a condo development, the name is already chosen for them. You'd be hard pressed to find young professionals and retirees who would pass up the opportunity to gaze for hours at the non apple orchards and dine on non-existent apples throughout the year.

In addition to myopic land use, the village has been hit even harder by the International Monetary Fund's structural adjustment policies, which, in the most simple terms, puts villagers out of work. As such, the income generation has shifted from agricultural to seasonal labour.

Hm. Maybe I was paying attention in class.

So to arrive with enough time for the students to conduct interviews, we left Eskisehir at around 6:30 in the morning. Since the is about 3.5 hours from our departure point, it seemed as though we'd arrive at around 10 in the morning. But, traveling in true Turkish form, we were required to make many tea stops. Turks can't seem to go more than an hour or so without tea, so we stopped more than a few times. While they drink copious amounts of the stuff, they have an amazing ability to not have to pee all the time. I wish I could say the same.

After some tea stops, we also took a couple of hours at a lake resort (Gol Yazi). I thought that the resort was the village when we first got there, and then figured that the prof had been blowing everything out of proportion- would a village with only 500 people have a Go-Kart track? Didn't think so.

It was in Gol Yazi that I met the closest thing to Leyland Cecco I've ever seen. It's a bird that lives on the water, and it's called Leylek Ciconia Ciconia. Creepy.

The site of buses pulling themselves up the mountain and into village brought all the residents out of their homes and into the streets. Children came out of out of the school and stared as though they'd never seen an outsider before. Then one of the children's phone rang, and he had a Kanye West ringtone. Hearing 'Stronger' immediately shattered my idealized notion of this pure and untouched village.

In reality, virtually every person has satellite TV. Which is more than I can say about my current situation...

The men work as farmers to produce for the village only- structural adjustment policies have made it useless for them to sell to the government. During the summer, they work as seasonal labourers at the archeological sites a few kilometres away. The women are unpaid household labourers, but the Turkish government considers them employed (although they receive no pay), thus inflating employment numbers.

As per the norm in Turkish culture, the villagers were outrageously hospitable- tea and fresh baked bread was brought out, and all were eager to give tours to the sociology students.

When they heard I was from Canada, some gave me blank stares, others (the lumberjacks) silent nods that said "Yes, my brother, we know of the fine trees that grow in your faraway land." Or something like that.

The village was a beautiful place- houses made of a random assortment of boards stood next to brick buildings, and the vivid colours seemed more Caribbean than rural Turkish. And cows drank from the fountains in the village square- always a treat to see.

The village was a nice departure from all things touristy. Evidence of such these activities can be found at:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/lcecco/

Chapter 5

How do you comfortably fit 6 people in a 5 person compact European car? You don't.

But once you do manage to 'tetris' yourselves into the car, the necessary ingredients for a good trip are in place:

1) Map of location you're not going to: Check.

2) Cramped seating: Check.

3) Buying groceries that, in theory, should be kept below 4 degrees, but are left in the hot car for more than 5 hours? Check.

4) Finding out the gas tank is empty? Check.

Since there were enough Cecc's there that it could have been a family reunion, we were all set to adventure off. The main goal was to end up in Çavdarhisar, a small village 2 hours from Eskisehir. The draw of the area is a scattering of Greek and Roman ruins going back as far as 2500 years. Pretty old stuff. And since we're young, the contrast seemed like a good idea.

After three close encounters with drivers "passing" (in the wrong lane), we arrived in Cavdarhisar. The first site was the old stadium and theatre. There was no facility or ticket booth there. It was essentially a free for all among the ruins. I fell victim to ignorantNorthAmerican Syndrome, and thought it would be a great idea to see how I could climb on some of the 2500+ year old walls. I learned that just because something's been sitting there for more than two millennia, doesn't mean that it's sturdy. Or safe. Or won't crumble and crack.

The second site was a set of old Roman baths. I can see why they abandoned them- there was no water. I guess old Octavius dropped the ball on that one...

The third site was an old Greek temple, which looked stunningly like the Parthenon, only smaller. And more crumbly. And more Turkish, since there was a place to buy tea a few meters from it.

While in Turkish cities, it's easy to forget that this area has a rich, rich history. The Byzantines, the Greeks, the Romans, the Seljuqs, the Ottomans- all of them controlled Turkey at some time, and it was a crucial part of all of the empires. When you think about how far back civilization goes back here, it makes you feel pretty insignificant.

As always, there are accompanying photos.

Check them out at : http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2176134&id=94807105

Chapter 4

I never thought I'd have tea with Fidel Castro's brother.

And today I didn't.

But I did share a tongue burning experience with the next best thing: the past mayor of Cavdarhisar.

We ran into him as we were snapping photos of an old Roman tower. He sauntered over, as only a local can do, and pointed over at the house across the stream. From what my 'slightly-more- present-than non-existent' Turkish told me, it was his museum. That, and the sign that said 'Museum'.

As he kept pointing to the museum with worn hands, hesitation borne from my lira-less pockets fell to curiosity. So I followed his lead across the bridge as the smoke curled from his cigarette, beckoning with its tendrils.

We passed a street sign, and he paused mid-step to tell me that this Abduallah Ozcan Street was in fact named after him.

Inside the cramped room which held his 'artifacts', he pulled items from shelves. With pride in his crinkled face, he showed me the ancient Turkish coffee pots that were donated to him, or the wool spinning devices used to make clothes.

After a few minutes of the obligatory "ooh's" and "wow's", he invited us upstairs for tea. Never one to turn down some tea with a Turk, I was quick to accept.

The creaky stairs gave us away, and before I had reached the top of the landing, his wife has bustled into the kitchen to start the tea. I was given a seat on his worn bench, and while I snapped photos, he picked up old pictures of the glory days. And in his glory days, he definitely drew a crowd.

The two Polish girls and the two Turks arrived 15 minutes later, and as we sat in the living room, lenses shuttering, his wife walked in with a tray of steaming tea. There are few things that top Turkish generosity. Actually, the only thing I can think of that tops it is the cost of a cab ride in this country when you get tricked by the driver.

Our group of 6 sat with steaming glasses, listening to Abdullah talk about how he was jailed during the war, how he became mayor here, and how he tried to turn it into a Soviet state.

To prove his commitment to the communist cause, he had his wife bring him his communism sweater.

Gold.

Well, the sweater wasn't, but the idea was. It was a black wool top, and it had the letters 'K' and T stitched into it. He listed off all of the possible things the 'K' stood for: Komunism, Kuba, Komunism. The 'T' was obviously for Turkey. So somedays he would wear his 'Komunism Turkiye' sweater, other days it was his 'Kuba Turkiye' sweater.

This let him segue into the fact that as a die-hard supporter of Raul and Fidel, in Turkey he often introduced himself to new acquaintances as Fidel Castro's brother.

What a guy.

The evidence of this chance encounter can be found here:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2176027&id=94807105&l=5b855d03ce

Chapter 3

His name is Urhan Gozebe. He's deaf, but that doesn't stop him from being one of the best salesmen ever.

This meerschaum savant (a carver of the rock mined in Eskisehir) will grunt and wave his hands in the air each piece he shows you, and is careful to point out that no, YOU will not pay the posted price. For you, cheaper. Also, if you're thinking of getting that meticulously carved face of Sultan Ahmet at another shop, expect to pay as high as the sky. Or ceiling. Or both.

What he lacks auditorily (word? probably not), he makes up for in character. He'll hobble around his cramped shop to pull pieces off the wall, hold them up to the camera for a second, then see something else that catches his eye. Like a child in a toy store, he's filled with excitement surrounded by his creations.

Any hesitation when a pipe is placed in your hands is met with a follow-up newspaper article, showing an gargantuan carving, and a title that reads "The 30 Thousand Dollar Pipe". From what I gleaned with my rudimentary (see: nonexistent) Turkish, he crafted a pipe that was sold for 30 grand. Makes the 50 bucks he wants for the elaborately carved busts of Watson and Holmes seem like a catch. Which it was by the way. Yes, I bought them. How can you turn him down?

I'm not sure if the shop is small, or the sheer volume of carvings hanging from the wall make it seem like that. Either way, if you've ever felt like being dwarfed by pipes, go there, and if you don't think it's possible, go there.

In true Turkish form, tea was brought out after my purchase, and we sat down on worn stools, burning our tongues. He showed me all of the famous people he's sold to, then gestured that he'd given them a good price. Not a ceiling high one.

So I left the shop with England's greatest duo in my bag, a burnt tongue, and some great photos.

You can find them here:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2175831&id=94807105&l=d68769b949

Also, a quick note on the meerschaum (from the hastily translated info sheet): It's called sea foam, since it's so light and white when it's pulled from the ground. When first mined, it can be scratched with a fingernail, so it has to be heated. This hardens it, allowing it to be more accurately carved. The most abundant and highest quality meerschaum comes from Eskisehir (I never thought I'd be guilty of plugging the quality of a rock, but I am). Since Turkey has banned the export of it for commercial purposes, the only real, high-grade pipes and other carvings come out of Turkey, specifically the Eskisehir region. So Urhan Gozebe is legit. Let's leave it at at that.

Chapter 2

Despite the unsolicited advice from Turks that Eskisehir was more than 20 hours by bus, or at least 3 by a rival bus company, I arrived in no less an 4 hours, and paid no more than 9 dollars (significantly less than the hundreds of Euros I was quoted).

The city is very European, yet still strikingly Turkish. It's European in the sense that the buildings are a throwback to Prague with a river right out of an Amsterdam guidebook. The Turkish part comes into play when I realized that kebap or doner restaurants occupy 90% of the commercial space, and I've become immune to both frequent sightings of garbage carts pulled by donkeys, and full families fit tightly onto a scooter (helmetless of course).

Eskisehir has been quite for the last few days, since everyone has been with family in other parts of Turkey to celebrate Bayram, the end of Ramazan holiday. The fact that everything has been closed hasn't deterred my from exploring the city and university.

The evidence of such explorations can be found here:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2175302&id=94807105&l=49bef962de

I'm living in my own apartment, fully furnished, since the student I was supposed to live with thought it would be a hilariously great idea to say "I'll host a student", when what he really meant was "I'll be in Italy for at least a semester. Don't tell him until he gets here." So it's just me, a gas stove, a redundant tea pot (credit to Hilary Beaumont) and a toaster oven that I have yet to figure out. All of those combine forces to create the most practical, unoriginal breakfasts imaginable: hardboiled eggs (I can't find a frying pan) and tea.

Living on my own has also taught me to prioritize- from now on, buying water (since they tap stuff is undrinkable) is MORE important than Facebook. A quick lesson on the second day reinforced this timeless wisdom.

While school starts next week, I've had a chance to register for courses and tour the campus. It's oasis-like when compared to the surrounding desert of the city, and is a student's haven for prices. A full meal in the cafeteria will set you back about 75 cents, and if your budget permits, a movie will also set you back the same amount. Splurging for a meal at the nice cafe will gouge the wallet about 4 dollars, but that'll include coffee for after the meal too.

So I've settled into the Turkish lifestyle (at 15 cups of tea a day, could it be anything but Turkish?) and if I don't kill myself on a gas powered stove, or die of thirst from forgetting to buy water, I will survive another week.

Chapter 1

They say in stand-up comedy that you always bomb your first time. It's a washout. It happens to everyone. That said, if I ever decide to enter the comedy ring, my token bomb lies in an embarrassing, awkward and sober night at a Mexican resort's "Improv Night".

I assumed the same would work for my trip here- a big embarrassment within a few hours of stepping off of the plane, and bingo- I'd have nowhere to go but up.

So after a day here in Istanbul, I have nowhere to go but up. That's the good news. The bad is that I couldn't even wait until I was off the plane.

No sooner had we taken off from London, I was asleep to Ben Stiller's voice in Night at the Museum. Although my eyes were closed, my mouth definitely wasn't. While being woken up for meal time on the plane (yes, they even have the kebaps on the plane), I couldn't help but notice the flight attendant glance down at the massive, Ontario-shaped drool stain on my shirt. I'd like to thank my mouth and lack of control for the three hours of embarrassment.

I'd been hesitant to fly here because of the flooding in Istanbul that swept through the city only a day or two ago. On my cab ride to the hotel, the streets were dry, the sidewalks and houses were and it seemed that the only water was on my shirt. Still.

The most surreal part of the Istanbulian experience is the call to prayer throughout the day. Although it's not done by the muezzin anymore (having been replaced by loudspeakers), the haunting song can be heard throughout the city. The Blue Mosque starts the call, and all the smaller surrounding mosques chime in, making for an eerily orchestrated event.

So far, I've learned three things about Istanbul:

1) Lanes on the highway, speed limits, turn signals, traffic lights and pedestrian rights are, for the most part, arbitrary and meaningless.

2) Air conditioners only need/have one setting- Turbo.

3) The AK-47 is the weapon of choice for guarding information booths.

The proof of my travels can be found here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2174734&id=94807105&l=de6c0614cb

Next stop: Eskisehir. I've been told by one Turk that it's 15 hours there, another told me 3. One said it would be around 30 Euro for a ticket, another told me 250. I'm beginning to think that the city is made-up.

Prologue

So before I leave, I figure I’d give everyone a good idea of where I’m going, and a few fun facts on top of that.

It’s not Istanbul. Although you can tell people that- I’ve been guilty of it a few times to get out of explaining where I’ll be.

The name of the city is Eskisehir, and it’s between Ankara and Istanbul (not Constantinople!)

The population is almost double Halifax's- 614,000, and the main export (and also attraction) is rock. White rock. From what I’ve gleaned from the Wiki, you can visit the rock museum, the rock quarry, and even take home a souvenir rock. I will verify this, and edit the entry if necessary.

The school, while being the 4th largest in the world by enrollment, has a small(ish) sized campus in the town. Most of the students are online/distance education students, so 884,000 people really translates to about 40,000 real students spread out over a Turkey.

This is all that I know about what I’m diving into, and hopefully it’s accurate. I’d be devastated to learn that the export was really off-white rock.