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My Turkey Times
(September 6, 2008 - )
Foreword I have been and am writing this blog in third person. I thought it would be more interesting that way. It is proving to be a bit more difficult to write about one's self in the third person, but it is an interesting challenge that I'm enjoying.
September 8, 2008 The first impression he always received about a country (and the people thereof) was the people on the airplane going to that country. This time, he was going to Turkey. The plane was full of what some might call “olive-skinned” persons, although he wasn’t exactly sure why such a metaphor was used. Perhaps it was because olive trees abound in that part of the world. Perhaps it was because of the slightly green hue in the skin, or perhaps he only imagined that he saw a green hue. Perhaps, lastly, it was because the skin was dark, and the ripe olive is black. None of those reasons seemed to justify the metaphor. So, he preferred to call them a sun-tanned people. Most of the women had black or brunette hair, except for a few bleached blondes. The fact that some people feel a need to change the color of their hair is something that he would never understand… unless they were changing to black or brunette. That he did understand, because it was beautiful. Yes, the thought did occur to him that maybe some people thought that blonde was beautiful, but since he did not think it was beautiful, he did not understand it, and he didn’t think he ever would. Now, blue… that was a hare of a different color. [He didn’t see any blue-dyed hair, though]. Our hero’s name was Leon. It was quite the international name. In Korea, everyone in the country knew his name just prior to his arrival. Evidently, the movie, “The Professional”, had just come out there and they had changed the title to “Leon” (after the main character). Ironically, because the actor (Jean Reno) was French, they all thought that the name was French. Leon was constantly explaining to the Koreans that the main character was Italian; and hence, the name was Italian. Having studied Spanish in high school, Leon knew that his name meant “lion” in Spanish, but he was surprised to learn that the name was also common in Poland. While in Japan, Leon was surprised to learn that there was a famous Japanese actor named Leon. Leon wondered if his name would be well-recognized in Turkey. Leon was 40 years old and had an eight-year-old son, named Titus. Leon had always liked the name Titus, but it wasn’t like he always wanted to name his son that. Having been born in Korea, Leon felt it appropriate that Titus be given a Korean name. The Korean name was chosen first. The English name Titus just seemed to match the Korean name in both meaning and phonology. Titus comes from the Greek name of the same spelling, meaning “giant”. Leon and Titus never discussed Titus’s mother. Titus was used to not having one. Leon had no idea what it was like to be raised without a mother. Leon did his best to compensate for Titus’s lack of a mother, but a straight man can only be so womanly without puking with disgust. Actually, it was Leon’s aim to be as affectionate as possible in a manly way. In Poland, it was acceptable for men to kiss on the cheek. But, when they had been back in America for several weeks, Titus decided that goodbye kisses at school were absolutely not appropriate, and declared one day, “Dad, no more kisses!” The second impression Leon got of a country was the weather upon arrival in the country. It was noon on September 6, 2008 when Leon and Titus arrived in Istanbul, and it was HOT… yes, hot and muggy. It reminded Leon of Korea… also hot and muggy on June 25, 1995 (13 years later and he still remembered the exact date). After multiple security checks, Titus and Leon were on a domestic flight to Adana Airport. Tarsus was Leon’s final destination, and it was 30 minutes away from Adana, and 30 minutes away from the Mediterranean Sea. The name “Tarsus” seemed so familiar to Leon. He knew he had heard and/or read it somewhere before. He thought that he might have read it in the Bible. “Didn’t Paul live there?” he thought. Didn’t he go to Damascus from Tarsus? Wasn’t it that road upon which he was converted to Christianity? Leon would research it later and would later find out that he was right. For the moment, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that there was something familiar about the name. ADANA, being on the southern coast of Turkey, was even hotter and muggier… and apparently smoggier. It was uncomfortable for both Leon and his son, but moreso for Titus. The third impression Leon got of a country was the way in which he was received by his hosts. In Korea, there was a mix-up on the days of arrival and there was no one to meet him at the airport. When transported from the recruitment agency to the actual institute where he would be working, they decided to make him carry his luggage for miles to the nearest subway station. The subway was crowded, hot, and muggy. They had to transfer several times. It was miserable. You’d think that someone in the recruiting agency would have had a minivan or something to transport him, but no~! The institute owner took him out to dinner, which was nice, but Leon was set up in a tiny apartment with bedding infested with body lice. Leon’s third impression of Korea was rice & lice. In Poland, there was no one to meet him at the airport, either. It was Leon’s responsibility to find his own way to the school from the airport. He had to stay in an expensive hotel, at his own expense, for weeks until they could find housing, and that ended up being FAR away from the school, creating huge commuting difficulties. Tragically, the school did not provide a housing allowance of any kind. And, to add injury to insult, there was no welcome party (in either sense of the word). Leon had kept hoping that there might some kind of formal welcoming ceremony, but alas, after a couple weeks he gave up on that idea. China was nice. There were people there to meet him and his son at the airport. They had automobiles ready to take him to the train (to go hundreds of miles into the Inner Mongolian frontier). They wouldn’t let him carry his own baggage. There was a huge, delicious feast prepared for him and his son. Arrangements were made, at great expense to bring his would-be housing up to his “American standards”. They paid for his hotel while the final touches were being applied to Leon’s new home. They literally (and figuratively) rolled out the red carpet for him (and his son). Leon stood in front of the arrival gate in the hot, muggy city of Adana, and wondered, “How would he be received in Turkey?” He didn’t have to wonder for long. Five minutes later, a school minivan arrived to pick Leon and Titus up. The director and his wife were there to meet Leon and Titus personally. They wouldn’t let Leon load the luggage into the van. They insisted upon doing that for him. After a brief, cordial introduction, they were on their way to Tarsus. The highway and surrounding scenery brought back painful memories of Wroclaw, Poland. It wasn’t more than five minutes before they were out of the concrete jungle and into the plains-turned-farm-land. As soon as they arrived at a stone jungle, they were in Tarsus. After traversing a few back-alley-like, winding asphalted roads, with no vegetative adornment on either side, with one-foot wide sidewalks, they stopped in front of a tiny gate, built into a 15-foot high, stone wall, covered with stucco. The wall extended all the way around the perimeter of the whole block. Leon had flashbacks to the back alleyways of Seoul, Korea, but this was different somehow. Leon and Titus were not one step out of the vehicle, when they were greeted by the Turkish business manager of the school(s); cordially. She spoke perfect English. They passed through the gate, guarded by two security guards. A covered entry way, was paved in meticulously laid stone. It opened up into a spacious courtyard. All around there were trees, in no discernable order. The architecture spanned millennia, some dating back to the times of the Roman occupation, some to the Ottoman, and some modern. Most was modern, actually. But, the thing that impressed Leon was the botanical garden. A heterogeneous mixture of seemingly ill-suited vegetation dotted the premises. Eucalyptus were juxtaposed with cedars of multifarious varieties, at least two distinctly different species of palm trees were scattered around, one species short, the other very, very tall (perhaps the tallest trees on campus). There were honeysuckles, a Rose of Sharon, yuccas, figs, a broadleaf maple, several olive trees, cumquat-looking trees, citrus trees (mostly lime), junipers, and many, many more that Leon could not identify. There was no geometry to their planting. It didn’t jive with Leon’s sense of order, but there was something refreshing about the place. Leon felt that he could learn to like disorder, randomness, spontaneousness. It was almost a pitty that the spontaneousness of the botanical gardens had to be interrupted by sporadic geometric shapes of human design. But, alas, somehow they had to pay the bills, to preserve as much as possible, this veritable garden of eden. Titus was his usual chatty self, asking a million questions, striking up conversations with everyone who would give him the time of day. In a way, Leon thought of his son as his little diplomat. He had absolutely no prejudice in his body. Discrimination was a foreign subject. It scared Leon a little, because Titus did not discriminate the righteous discrimination, as the goats from the sheep. Leon wanted his son to associate with sheep, but Titus was indiscriminate of goats and sheep. All were good. So, Leon felt like he had to keep a tight lease on his son, lest he be tempted by the goats and go down destructive paths. After a tour of the grounds, it was announced that Leon’s and Titus’s living quarters were ready for occupation. Leon and Titus were escorted to their new home. The whole apartment was tiled (same as China). It was fully furnished, even with pots and pans, dishware, and silverware. There was even bedding on the beds, smelling like they were fresh from the factory. It wasn’t a bed full of roses, but factory smell is better than body odor and blood-sucking parasite. It was nice. The nicest Leon had ever had overseas. And spacious, too! The director then offered to take Leon (and his son) out to dinner to a nice outdoor restaurant by a waterfall, at sunset. Leon and Titus were informed that this region of Turkey was a meat-oriented society, with the obvious exception of pork. The director informed Leon that pork could not be found anywhere in Turkey. Leon wondered if that meant that there weren’t any pigs, either. After dinner, Leon and Titus went home to sleep off the jet-lag. RAMADAN in TURKEY Ramadan had already started. The reader may or may not know that Ramadan is a month-long, Islamic period of daily fasting, culminated daily with a feasting, in order to draw nearer to the almighty. The director informed Leon that there would be two cannon blasts per day: one in the early morning and one in the evening. Leon was told that the former was to signal the beginning of fasting, and the other to signal the end of fasting. Leon was jarred out of his peaceful slumber by the sound of an explosion that seemed to originate just behind his apartment. He silently cursed the construction workers for starting so early in the morning. It was still dark and it should be illegal to do loud construction work in a residential area when it is dark outside. Then, Leon remembered about Ramadan. He tried to go back to sleep, satisfied that they weren’t going to make any more noise for about 16 hours. He lay on the bed and amazingly, could not go back to sleep. About an hour later, there was a prayer being sung (in Turkish of course) over a P.A. system. Leon got up and looked out the window. It was still dark. He felt as if he was in some movie and the initial scene was showing with a garden of Eden backdrop while some exotic-sounding song was being sung in the background. It was all so surreal. It was a new feeling for Leon. He had been all over the world, but he had never experienced the sensation he was now feeling. He was happy. He had been given a great gift: a chance to be his son’s teacher: to finally have the time to give his son a proper education. Or, rather, to make sure that his son got a proper education. Yeah, as far as the administration was concerned, Leon was here in Turkey to make sure their students got an education, and that he would do; But, as far as, Leon was concerned, he was there to make sure his son got an education, ‘cause Titus wasn’t fitting in at the American Public School system. He wasn’t applying himself at school, no matter how much support I gave him (and his teacher) at home. Leon went outside for a walk… to think. He took notice of the fauna for the first time. Stray cats and toads were ubiquitous. He wondered why they let the cats wander around the grounds. Was it some custom? Was it auspicious to have cats? Was there some superstition regarding them? Maybe there was a more practical purpose; maybe they kept the rodent population down. He hadn’t seen any rodents, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t any. Or maybe the cats ate them all. He didn’t get much “thinking” done, because of all the distractions. Everything was all so new and he still hadn’t become desensitized to it all. On his way, back to his apartment, he tried to figure out what he would do until orientation. He was told that someone would contact him. He looked in the fridge. His hosts had filled it with peaches, pears, apples, apricot juice, crackers, and bottled water. “How nice!” he thought. Titus heard Leon making noises and got up. They ate breakfast and waited…. And waited. They took a nap. Finally, evening fell and the cannon blew signaling the end of the fast. So, they went out for a bite to eat. No orientation. “Great!” he thought. “Trial by fire! Great! Throw me into the lion’s den! I’ve been there before.” He continued thinking. School started tomorrow. He had no schedule… had no idea where to go, nor what time school started. He went to the elementary vice principal’s home and asked what time the school started and where to go. School literally started with a “bang”. The bang came at 3 o’clock in the morning again. Leon and Titus were up. They couldn’t get back to sleep. They spent the next five hours lounging around the apartment, eating, watching Turkish MTV, and writing letters. The morning schedule is like this: 3am: BANG! 4am: The street cleaner truck that looks like a motor home with a brush comes by. 5am: Islamic Prayer is sung over the City P.A. system. 6am: Every pigeon in the bleeding city coos for an hour. 7am: Time to get ready for school “Welcome to Turkey!” Leon thought as he tried to make a shopping list for later that day. September 9-23, 2008 Over the next few days (or nights, rather), Leon was having some disturbing dreams. One was a dream that he knew he had had before. In fact, even while he was dreaming the dream, he was aware that he had been in that same situation before. In that particular dream, Leon was a detective on a murder case. As he began to familiarize himself with the case, he thought to himself, “Ah, yes, I remember this case.” Evidently, the case had never been solved; But, this time things were different. This time he had some experience under his belt and a fresh perspective and he felt he had some good leads to follow up on. These dreams, he knew, were merely reflections of how he was adjusting to his new environment. Clearly, he had been overseas before, but those experiences did not always end as he would have had them end. He hoped that this time, things would be different, but he was experienced enough to know that he who exulteth himself, shall be abased. On Sunday, Leon decided to face the unappealing and arduous task of doing laundry, in the communal laundry room, equipped with four washers and three dryers. He found out that one washer did nothing but cover all his clothes in half-centimeter-round chucks of hard water deposits that had obviously coagulated in the machine. And, one of the dryers was non-functional. With all the staff, faculty, and students that shared those machines, Leon was surprised that he had them all to himself. Still, the machines were old and took their sweet time to get the job done. Fortunately a diversion was provided. The communal laundry room had a TV, a VCR, and tons of VHS videos obviously abandoned by previous teachers. There were tons of books: some stacked ever so grotesquely on a table and some stuffed on shelves in no particular order. There were two pianos, which looked as old as the Ottoman Empire; and from the sound of them, they hadn’t been tuned since Ataturk took power. Stacks of hymnals lay on one of the pianos. Leon looked inside. The date was from the late 19th century. Then, the thought occurred to him that this place might have once been a mission. Leon knew what he would do. He would get a video started for Titus, and organize all the books in some logical order; However, the TV was broken. The VCR worked, but the TV wouldn’t turn on. So, Leon began the task of organizing all the books. The musty smell soon disappeared, but that might have been because he opened all the windows and turned on the restroom fan, or it might have been because he got used to it. Titus found ways to entertain himself, one of which was on a stepping exercise machine, which most people would find “work”, but he found “fun”. Three hours later, the books were completely organized into the following categories: (1) non-fiction, (2) travel/international, (3) biography, and (4) fiction. By far, the largest section was fiction and those were organized by size. By the end, Leon had set aside a fairly decent-sized stack of books for Titus and him to read. There was one book entitled: “Recent American Literature.” Leon looked at the date of the printing: 1925. He had a good laugh about that. He put that one back on the self. He thought that if only he had a contact in the states that sold old, out-of-print books to whom he could sell these antiquated books, he’d make a small fortune. But alas, he did not have such a contact. The books were organized, it was dark, but the clothes were still not completely dry. So, Leon took Titus out for dinner. It was some of the most delicious foods Leon had ever tasted. Titus wasn’t as enthusiastic about it, but he ate, and that’s something. He’s usually not crazy about trying new foods, and usually had his mind made up just by looking at something whether he liked it or not. The fact that he even tried it without prodding was something. The first book on Leon’s reading list (from the laundry room) was one entitled, “The Journey to the East”. The title caught Leon’s attention for two reasons: (1) he himself had been on a journey to the East, (2) the adjective: “The” intrigued him. The author chose that article very carefully, he imagined. Out of all the millions of journeys to the East, and thousands of journeys that had been recorded, why was his journey referred to as “The Journey…”? Leon flipped through the first few pages. It was a paperback of approximately 100 pages. The cover was not particularly intriguing. The author’s name was at the top in huge print, and the title was actually rather small, as titles go. Eventually, Leon came to a quotation in the book and read, “He
who travels far will often see things
“Far removed from what he believed was Truth.
“When he talks about it in the fields at home,
“He is often accused of lying,
“For the obdurate people will not believe
“What they do not see and distinctly feel.” Leon thought, “How true, my fellow journeyman! How true!” It didn’t take long for Leon to finish the book. It was a fantastically intriguing book by Hermann Hesse, and it became clear why the adjective: “The” was chosen for its title. It was by far a magnificent journey, a fantastic journey and evidently, his ONLY journey to the East. It is not my intention to “ruin” books for people, but since the book is likely not well circulated and you, the reader, probably will never read it, I will divulge the contents of the book here, in compendium. The book was first published in 1956 (in English), by the NOONDAY PRESS, New York. It was originally written by Hermann Hesse, a native of Germany, and obviously, in the German language. The journey took place shortly after what Hesse calls “the World War”, which was clearly the first World War, since the first printing was in 1932. There was a “league” that the author claims he was/is not allowed to expose. It was/is a secret society, and yet, it must not have been morbidly secret, for the public knew of the League and its so-called journey to the East, nick-naming it the “Children’s Crusade”. But since the actual identity of the league is totally and in all ways irrelevant to the plot, I shall not dwell on the identity and how Leon really wanted to know more about it. Plot of The Journey to the East: 1.) The author, Hermann Hesse is chosen to be a part of the league’s expedition to the East. 2.) The journey begins on foot. But, it is not clear whether they even made it past Switzerland. The author writes: “…our goal was not only the East, or rather the East was not only a country and something geographical, but it was home and youth of the soul, it was everywhere and nowhere, it was the union of all times.” Whether all the leaguers were consciously aware of that at the time or not is not made clear. 3.) They (members of the League that actually went on the journey to the East) got to see a Chinese temple and a Siamese colony without ever leaving Europe. 4.) The geographical journey ends in a gorge in Switzerland called: Morbio Inferiore. [The name of the place is somewhat significant, I think; even though it was never made explicit as to why. The word Morbio is clearly a Latin word meaning diseased, or ill, even nigh unto death. It seems extremely symbolic that the leader of the journey to the East, surnamed “Leo”, would choose to end the journey at that particular spot. Verily, he abandoned the group and left them there to their own figurative “destruction”.] 5.) The “death” of the journey, was actually a test: “It was the absence of the servant Leo which revealed to us, suddenly and terribly, the extent of the dissention and the perplexities which shattered our hitherto apparent complete unity. A few of us, to be sure, immediately knew or suspected that Leo had neither come to any harm nor run away, but that he had secretly been recalled by the League officials. Yet not one of us can contemplate without feelings of the deepest repentances and shame how badly we underwent this test. Hardly had Leo left us, when faith and concord amongst us was at an end.” 6.) In the end, the author and hero of the story, realizes that the journey is merely a metaphor for life and the East is a metaphor for happiness. It matters not, really, where we are, it only matters that we find happiness. And how do we do that? …by the law of service. Leon wondered. He pondered. He decided that he agreed. True happiness does come from service. He actually knew this from religious teachings, from adages and maxims, from personal experience. But, did he believe it? He decided that he did. For a child, it would not be so true. For a child, happiness comes from being loved, and experiencing new and exciting things. To a certain extent, being loved and experiencing new & exciting things still brought Leon happiness as an adult; But, they were fleeting, and unpredictable. Service, on the other hand, was something he could do anytime, anywhere. Even in Turkey, (or perhaps, especially in Turkey), Leon found opportunities for service. He picked up garbage that lay scattered on the school grounds. He gave alms to the poor. He put bandages on scrapped knees. He fed the stray cats. Lastly, he found more and more joy as the years went on in serving his son. At first, it was a burden, not so much an unwanted one mind you, but a burden nevertheless. He didn’t think of it as a burden any more. Now it was a responsibility, but a good one. It was not without its exasperating moments… moments when he wanted to rend his clothes and bear his chest to the world and say, “Put me out of my misery, please!” But, such moments were infitessimal in comparison to the moments when he put on the amour of love and went to battle for his son, or simply enjoyed being in his son’s company. Being in Turkey, was not Leon’s first choice, by a long shot. At least, being where he was in Turkey, doing what he was doing in Turkey, were far from optimal. But, he was with his son. He got to be Titus’s dad & teacher. That’s what mattered most. That would not have been possible in the States. September 24, 2008 Book 2 on Leon’s reading list from the laundry room was: “The Theory and Practice of Travel” by Keith Waterhouse, copyright 1991. According to Mr. Waterhouse, there are three kinds of journey-makers: (1) the daytripper, (2) the tourist, and (3) the traveler. In case you are wondering in which category you would be placed, I’ll describe each for you as Mr. Waterhouse does. The Day Tripper The day-tripper is a lout. The world is his/her trashcan. Vandalism often occurs, not necessarily to the artifacts or relics themselves, but to the surroundings. [Not much is written about the day-tripper, but we get the picture.] The Tourist The tourist is a locust. He/she generally goes to see what others have seen just to say that he/she has seen it, generally hitting all the “tourist” spots and tourist “traps”, generally in packs and via “packages”. Because of the great numbers (locusts), the sites and sights get ruined. The tourist(s) may sample some of the local cuisines, but generally prefers to have his/her/their coke and hamburger. For examples: He/she goes to the Louvre to see the Mona Lisa and then to McDonalds. The Traveler The traveler is a benevolent parasite. He/she loves to travel off-season and is a glutton for side trips. He/she wants to go where no foreigner has gone before. He/she is a trailblazer, a pioneer, without sleeping in tents and washing in streams. [One gets the impression that the traveler is not a glutton for punishment]. The traveler travels in comfort, for he/she is “on the road” to enjoy life, and to experience new sensations. He/she savors the local cuisine, will have a stab at the local lingo, and prefers to be among the natives than among his/her own nationality. “So,” Leon thought, “What am I?” “I am certainly not a day-tripper. I am certainly not a tourist. I have a lot in common with the traveler, but I am not that either.” You see, there was one thing that distinguished Leon from that of a traveler: a traveler never stays too long in one place, and never goes back to the same place twice. The traveler doesn’t look to settle down, just to experience and move on to other, new experiences. Leon was, and there was no other way to describe him, a seasoned expatriate. He settled in. He got a job. He lived and worked in foreign countries. Still, he did feel that he and the traveler did have a lot in common. The term “seasoned expatriate”, however, was to broad a term to describe Leon. He was actually a hybrid of the traveler and the expatriate, for he loved to go on excursions (even if that simply meant going down some street or alleyway that he’d never been down before). When in Seoul, Korea, Leon came to know the city better than many of the natives who grew up there, because of his adventurous spirit. Socially, Leon loved to mingle with the natives as much as possible, both in Seoul and Turkey. In fact, there was one of the native Turks, who was working as an English teacher at the same school, who was boarding in an adjacent home. They became good friends and often sat around after school ‘shooting the breeze’. I think it is time to introduce Leon’s employer. Leon’s employer was called the “Tarsus American College”, also known as Tarsus American School. The term “college” was probably taken from the Spanish meaning of the word: high school. And why not call it college? Education was only mandatory until grade 6. The American College had expanded to include an elementary school, (grades K-8). It was a bilingual school. Instruction started out mostly in Turkish (at the primary level), but English was increased in the curriculum until by 12th grade, students could have opted to have all their subjects taught in English and “shoot for” the coveted International Baccalaureate (IB) diploma. The school was accredited by both the Turkish government and the Council of International Schools. If Titus had been in 12th grade, there wouldn’t have been any problem in his dad’s mind, with regards to full enrollment. But, since at third grade, most of the curriculum was taught in Turkish, it presented a problem. After much coaxing by the administration and colleagues, Leon actually tried immersing Titus in a Turkish classroom. Titus cried multiple times, because he didn’t understand what was going on. The teacher didn’t speak English and all her writing on the board was in some foreign language, which, to make matters worse, was in cursive! (He had not been taught cursive yet. In the U.S., children don’t get cursive instruction until the third grade. In Turkey, students learn it by the end of the second grade.) Leon pulled Titus out of Turkish classes, only leaving him in art, music, and P.E., with math still in the “trial” period. Leon had ordered some textbooks to teach Titus math, science, social studies, and language arts, but until those arrived, Titus was being taught cursive, spelling, and reading. Luckily the library was stocked with tons of English literature for all levels of English. October 2, 2008 RAMADAN—BYRAM—TURKEY TROTS It was the final week of Ramadan (called “Ramazan” in Turkey). It was a national holiday, called “Bayram”. Leon was off work, Titus was off school. Amazing how a whole country takes a week off. At least they stopped the stinking cannon blasts in his back yard, so he could get some sleep. Until arriving in Turkey, Leon’s definition of “Turkey Trots” was: “Fun-runs that transpire on or around Thanksgiving Day, all around the United States, except Cuero, Texas, where literal (as opposed to figurative) Turkeys do the trotting.” After arriving in Turkey, Leon discovered a new definition for “Turkey Trots”. Some of you experienced travelers will know exactly what I’m writing about. And I quote: “6/26/2003 - INCIRLIK
AIR BASE, Turkey (AFPN) -- Incirlik has many claims to fame,
particularly during its support of operations Northern Watch and Enduring
Freedom. While proud of their endeavors, most people would probably choose to do
without one infamous part of Incirlik life -- diarrhea. “Unfortunately for residents,
Incirlik has a 10 to 15 times higher rate of travelers diarrhea, known locally
as the Turkish Trots, than anywhere else in the European theater.” [Source:
Elaine Aviles "Researchers
combat travelers trots". US Air Force Press Releases. .
FindArticles.com. 02 Oct. 2008. http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_prfr/is_200306/ai_237476582] Leon had never heard of the “Turkish
Trots” before, but he had been experiencing them for the past two weeks,
off and on. Fortunately,
Titus was unaffected. This,
however, perplexed Leon, because they had eaten all the exact same foods since
arriving in Turkey. There was one
difference, however, and we shall get to that later. Keith Waterhouse’s “The
Theory and Practice of TRAVEL: A crucial guide for globetrotters” has only
one paragraph devoted to this topic. And
I quote: “Statistically, the hazard you
are likeliest to come up against on foreign shores is an upset tum.” Waterhouse is Brittish; So, you
know; the vocabulary is a bit different than we North Americans are used to, so
I’ll translate, where deemed appropriate.
Clearly no translation for “tum” is needed, as in North America, we
say: “tummy” and “tum” is close enough. Ironically, if indigestion is
the likeliest hazard to encounter in foreign countries, it seems grossly
incongruous that only a single paragraph out of a 160-page book on travel should
be devoted to it. I now quote the
rest of the paragraph: “This is one of those rare occasions
where cure is better than prevention,…” [Hold on! Waterhouse
qualifies this statement very well]. “…for no matter how many routine
precautions you take—never eating unwashed or unpeeled fruit, sticking to
mineral water and not buying savoury snacks at street stalls—a stray bug can
still get you. What you want is a
strong preparation that does the trick immediately. Never travel without a tried and tested cure—there are
several patent ones available.” [patent:
marketed as a proprietary commodity : having patent or trademark protection].
“If you do find yourself without your bottle of Cloggo [Peptobismal], a
chemist [pharmacist] will mix you something—but locating the late-night
chemist [pharmacist] can be a time-consuming business, especially if you have to
keep dashing back to the hotel.” Leon read those words, and he
cursed himself for not remembering to bring his good ol’ trusted home
remedies, like: diarrhea-stopper, cold medicine, et cetera. It’s not that you can’t find medicines in foreign
countries, it is that you cannot speak the language and the pharmacies aren’t
open at 3am. In North America, Thanksgiving
was approaching, and Leon thought, that he’d be thankfull if he didn’t have
the ‘Turkey Trots’ anymore. On “hump day” of the
week-long Ramazan Byram Holiday, and Leon had the most amazingly perfect bowel
movement, AKA: B.M, AKA: “The Perfect Dump”.
“Thank God!” he prayed in his mind.
“There’s nothing like a smooth B.M.” he thought.
One really doesn’t appreciate how soothing and refreshing a smooth B.M.
can be unless he’s had the Turkey trots for the past two weeks. But, it didn’t last. Still Titus was unaffected.
Leon tried to figure out what was causing his trots to the pot.
There was one thing in his diet that differed from Titus’s: Turkish
beer. It had to be the draft beer,
at the restaurants, that made Leon sick. Just
to make sure, he’d lay off the beer for a while. It made perfect sense, though.
Turkey is now a Muslim country. The
Quran forbids the drinking of alcohol. So, the restaurant owners must have been attacking the
infidels by poising the one thing that only infidels would ingest:
alcohol. Leon morosed [to make a verb out
of an adjective] the fiendish irony. Alcohol
was in fact an Arabic word. Beer
probably had been invented in the Middle East, like Sumeria.
And then the Arabic Quran comes along and says, “Do not let the first
drop of alcohol touch thy lips.” Again,
the world is full of ironies, for in some Middle Eastern countries it is
reported that the men take their glass of alcohol, drop the first drop thereof
on the floor, (to obey the letter of the law), and imbibe the rest. It was all conjecture.
Leon was highly suspicious. He
was also nervous. After all, it was
common knowledge that Americans were not popular in the Middle East, especially
among Islamics. But, it was also
true that there were a lot more Turkish infidels drinking beer than foreign
infidels, and if Leon’s suspicions were true, then it would mean that Turkish
radicals were poisoning their own ‘unfaithful’ countrymen, as well as the
decadent foreigners. That said, it
was probably not intentional poisoning. In
fact, it may simply have been that Leon’s anatomy was not accustom to Turkish
beer. Whatever the case, he
wouldn’t be drinking any more Turkish beer. Coincidently, during Leon’s
investigations into ‘Turkey Trots’ online, he came across “The Poop
List” “The Perfect Dump
- Every once in a while, each of us experiences a perfect dump, it's rare, but a
thing of beauty in all respects. You sit down expecting the worst, but what you
get is a smooth sliding, fartless masterpiece that breaks the water with the
splashless grace of an expert diver. But that's not the end of it. You use some
toilet tissue only to find that it was totally unnecessary. It makes you feel
that all is right with the world and you are in perfect harmony with it.” “The Houdini Dump
- You go, then you stand up to flush, and the darn thing has disappeared.
Where'd it go? Did it creep down the pipe? Did you dream the whole thing? Is it
lurking out of sight? Should you wipe...maybe you should just to make sure you
went. Should you flush? You’d better, because if you don't, you know it will
reappear and smile at the next person who comes in.” And for Those with
‘fuzzy butts’: You’ve got the
‘cling-on dump’ and the ‘whole-roll dump’ described thusly: “The Cling-On Dump
- For the most part you've completed your dump, but there's one little morsel
that refuses to drop off. You're getting impatient. Someone else wants to use
your stall. So, you grip the seat with both hands and wriggle, twist and pump
but that last little stubborn piece just hangs there, suspended, clinging like a
canned peach between you and the bowl water. Maybe the person pounding
impatiently on the door has scissors.” “The Whole-Roll Dump - No matter how much you wipe, it doesn't seem to be enough. You blow the whole roll and you have to flush 25 times too. The whole episode is consumer waste.” FASHION in TURKEY One thing that always brought
great anticipation to Leon when traveling to a new country was the fashion.
As an adolescent, his family had been to Europe, and while the punk hair
styles of the youth in London were, to him, quite radical, and while the lack of
any fashion on the beaches of the French Riviera was quite provocative, on the
whole he found that the fashion of Europe quite resembled his own North American
fashion. And, he didn’t expect it
to be any other way. The Far East,
however, was a whole different ball game. As
an adult, he embarked on his own Journey to the East, fully expecting the
natives to be walking around in their traditional clothing.
To his great amazement, Koreans, Japanese and Chinese, all dressed like
he did, except for ceremonial events. This
was Leon’s first trip to the Middle East and he expected women to be dressed
like he had seen on television, fully covered, with only eyes and/or face
exposed. While Turkey did have a
few such conservatives in its borders, the great majority of women wore very
Western-style clothing. Leon was
surprised to see skin-tight clothing, with sometimes low-cut blouses, which
exposed the shape, without exposing the skin.
The irony was to have a low-cut, cleavage-exposing shirt, with a leotard
underneath so that the mid-drift would show.
In essence, it was okay to show ones boobs to the world, but not one’s
back or abdomen. He couldn’t
figure it out. FAUNA in TURKEY (Part II) Over the days and nights, Leon
became more and more familiar with the fauna of the campus.
Every evening around dusk, bats came out and stayed out all night.
It was amazing that they found anything at all to eat, because every
morning a truck came around spewing out gaseous pesticide to kill mostly
mosquitoes, but inevitably killed all flying insects.
Titanic cockroaches and gargantuan snails were ubiquitous on the campus
floor (vegetative floor, that is). Leon
wondered why the cockroaches and snails were so much bigger than those back
home. He decided that in a climate
that never freezes, where there is food all year round, and in abundance, why
shouldn’t the fauna be bigger? More
food = more eating = bigger bodies. Conversely,
Leon believed that the reason that mammals had shrunk significantly in size
during the last ice age, was quite simply: lack of food. [To be continued…]
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