A grain of salt

Everything is almost always shiny and welcoming when you're a tourist. It's all exciting and beautiful; sure you see the dirty side, the sad and depressing side, but it's almost in passing and you take it like a grain of salt. Walking past the gypsies was almost like walking past the homeless in Philadelphia. The only difference was that the gypsies always had something to do to keep busy, and put a little change in their pocket. That and the use of their children to bully people into giving money and buying tissues. So it's not quite like the homeless in Philadelphia, but the feeling was similar, a horrible circumstance that you wish you could personally put an end to but you know there's nothing you can do about it. It's actually been an ongoing discussion between Emre and I. He thinks that by buying those tissues or whatever those children are selling will only encourage their parents to keep sending them out. My argument is that I doubt it matters much. If there's a bad day, they'll just say tomorrow will be better, and each day will bring more wealth. In fact I think that mindset has been engrained in the lifestyle of the working class here.
Here the minimum wage is almost impossible to live on. Currently minimum wage stands at TL799.5 ($443). Minimum wage workers were only recently exempt from wages, which have fallen to the responsibility of the employer; a worker working for minimum wage actually costs his employer TL1,110. This means that there are far more unaccounted workers than anyone cares to admit. And on top of that, many employers do not pay for health insurance, at least not until a worker has given several years service. Istanbul is an expensive city to live in. Rent is not cheap, and neither is transportation. Both of which are essential. How anybody lives on minimum wage is beyond me.

It sort of makes it difficult to enjoy all the great parts of Istanbul, like when suddenly the sea is flooded with jellyfish that they thickly cover the entire area all along the coast.

And then there's always crossing the Bosphorus, which is an incredible journey every time, except when you're too mentally exhausted to care.

The most incredible part in all of this, is that so many people endure. Many don't complain, and simply thank Allah for what they have. In such a society I can understand how easy it is to get stuck in a place without any sign of a way out, the risk seems almost too great. It's a repressive system, one in which it's almost impossible to save enough to move on to something worthwhile. Which brings me to my next point: self worth. The conditions and and boss-worker relations completely break down a person's character, to the point where he no longer feels he can move on to anything else, further convincing him that he is stuck. Mobility is limited.





photographs ©Megan LaMon

Unexpected Unintended

Istanbul is a big city. It is really more like several cities that are all interconnected that share a name for the large area they span. To give some perspective, look at the comparison between Istanbul and New York City: you can fit almost seven New York cities inside of Istanbul, and Istanbul bursts with about 5.2 million more people.

So then tell me, how small are the odds that Emre might run into an old friend of mine on the street on his way to pick me up from work?

They walked passed each other in front of the tram stop in Sultanahmet, both thinking to themselves that the person they were passing looked strangely familiar. And then they both paused. Feeling this mutual connection of recognition, they stopped and turned to each other, finally realizing who the other was. 

Naturally, we had her stay with us. Who needs a hostel or couchsurfing, when there's a perfectly good place to stay with friends? Even if it is way on the other side in the middle of nowhere, and kind of a pain in the ass to get anywhere.

The next morning we took a tiny boat to Emirgan for khavalti which means breakfast in Turkish, the literal translation is before coffee.

The best part about khavalti is always kaymuk and honey. Kaymuk is kind of like clotted cream. Just as bad for you, but so delicious.

We were so stuffed by the end of it.

It's a good thing autumn lasts forever here. We were still able to walk by the seaside without winter coats. There was almost no breeze, leaving the temperature perfect for walking from Emirgan to Ortakoy, which took over an hour.

It was probably the best Sunday I've spent in a while.

our nation was raped

It seems the newspapers rarely bring good news, or at least all of the good news is completely overshadowed by the bad. Aside from world news, home is looking pretty grim at the moment. West Nile Virus is all over the place, with over 41 deaths counted, some from my own hometown. Wildfires have destroyed our country's beauty. Violence ensues:  Police are proving themselves incompetent. Conversation concerning Julian Assange surges forward. Politics are never out of the news, especially with the upcoming election. It seems that the attacks on Planned Parenthood, recently brought to the forefront in 2011, have inspired discussions about ligitimate rape, abortion, and birth control again.

I have just finished applying for my absentee ballot. I expected an eruption of pride and excitement, but all I feel is apathy. I don't care to vote for Obama or Romney. At the tender age of 18 I was so filled with hope for change and revolution when I nervously cast my first vote. I really believed that I could make a difference, that our president could make a difference. Now I see that I have to be the change I wish to see. My president isn't going to do that for me.  At the impressionable age of 18, I believed that my president could actually make change for the better. I guess I never paid much attention to US history, too busy daydreaming. Sure, change happens gradually, but rarely in a drastic direction or one of serious reformation.

I can't help but revert back to that youthful 18 year old. It may only be 6 years later, but those six years have brought many revelations, changes, and alterations. I can't say that I resemble that skinny 18 year old in the slightest. Yet, I still hang on to some kind of hope, even if it is a little less naive. Occupy may not be the movement it intended, but it reminded us that revolution can be possible. We can have our own American Spring. At least there is clear proof that some people still have a fight, a drive, a sense of urgency. Life is too short to fall to the wayside, to sit on the sideline and watch the main players call the shots, to form a queue and follow the person ahead of you. You have to cut your own path.

Sweet Successful Disasters

This adventure into apple butter making was really an eventful experience. After the battle with the worms there was an encounter with a pressure cooker. Now I've used a pressure cooker before, but only the kind that only requires the press of a button and presto all you have to do is wait. This one is not electronic, therefore, immediately more terrifying. For those of you who are not acquainted with pressure cookers, I will give a small background. They are a kind of pot that allows you to cook under extreme pressure, which allows food to cook faster. Ok. Now if you decide to take the top off BEFORE the pressure is release, you will discover that the lid has suddenly turned into a flying torpedo. Luckily the pot I was using had a lid that is wider than the circumference of the pot opening, and there was a safety valve and a quick pressure release. All the same, still a little intimidating. Long story short I really couldn't tell when the apples had reached maximum pressure and just kind of winged it. The apples were indeed thoroughly cooked, and extremely mushy. Perfect for squeezing through the sieve.

I set to adding spices and sugar and started the two hour simmering process, stirring occasionally.  I realize now that I was supposed to be stirring the whole time. I'm not sure if that is why the consistency is a bit more like apple sauce or if it's really just the size of the holes in my sieve. In the end I excitedly pulled it off the heat and tested. Too sugary. And too lemony. Well at least it would be good for cakes and bread. Right?

Actually everyone who tried it said it wasn't too sweet at all, and fine to eat. So some of it will find it's way into Aşure Ekmeği which is just a kind of sweet bread with nuts and fruit (YUM). The rest will hopefully be eaten at breakfast.


Now for the second batch. Everything started wonderfully perfect, and aside from adding just a tad too much clove, the taste was perfect (I decided to test-taste before adding the sugar and adjust accordingly). Then I made the very grave mistake of simultaneously having a skype conversation and boiling the apple butter. Which resulted in a burnt bottom. Ok salvageable. But then I went even further and put it into a jar that was too cold (which was room temperature, but I guess the butter was too hot) and proceeded to break the jar. Lovely. Now the second batch has a slightly burnt flavor.

An Accidental Massacre

It was really quite unavoidable. And for that matter, completely unintentional. Well, that is to say, that I was aware of my actions after a certain point, but if I could have avoided it, I would have. But when you are slicing an apple in half, or slicing any part of the apple, really, it is not possible to foresee that your knife is in direct line with a worm. So it is with a very heavy heart that I must admit that I have murdered many many apple worms.

At least I can say that it was all for a good cause. The poor apple tree is completely infested. Most of the apples fall off the tree before they have reached ripeness. August is too early for apples. The apples that manage to cling to the branches are, for the most part, left waiting until they can cling no more. In an effort not to waste such a bounty source of food, we attempt to eat some of them, but there are only so many unripe apples a person can handle. Not to mention that if you eat too many you will most likely get stomach cramps.

The unfortunate pest-ridden tree is facing the death penalty because its fruit is unfit to eat; threats have been made to chop it down. In an effort to save its life, I have set out on a quest to find a use for the apples. My main objective is to avoid as much waste as possible, therefore, I decided the best place to start is with the fallen apples that could be saved. I set about collecting several kilos, soaked them in apple cider vinegar and water, rinsed, chopped, discarded the messy wormy parts, and finally stuffed them in the pressure cooker and set them on the stove. The wonderful smell of apples is beginning to fill the kitchen as my pressure cooker is reaching full pressure. Soon I will have a lovely batch of cooked apples for apple butter!

Jam out

In an attempt to pull myself back up, I decided to take the phrase literally is probably a good start. With Emre's help I have begun to attempt pull ups. This in itself is hilarious. Seeing as I can not do a single pull up, let alone reach the bar (and it's too high to jump and grab), I need help. Every morning and night I make an attempt at one, with Emre giving me a little push, and then I slowly release myself from the bar. This is a good routine that is helping build up my otherwise scrawny arms. One day I will be able to do it all by myself.

In addition, I decided it's best to keep myself busy and stay away from the computer as much as possible. Today happened to revolve mostly around the computer, and I allowed myself a small 20 minute nap, as it was much needed. But, this time I actually got up feeling refreshed and I really must attribute it to the past two very productive days. Which mostly consisted of making jam.

There is a tree on the other side of the garden wall so laden with plums that a branch the size of my arm actually snapped. There are several more heavy branches hanging over the wall onto our side. Sick of seeing all the over ripen plums splattered all over the ground I set to work collecting several kilos of plums. They are very small, unlike any plums I've ever encountered in the states.

Not wanting to waste all the plums in case my first ever batch of jam turned out less than exquisite, I decided to start with only one kilo of plums. Luckily Emre's mother is a really great cook and gave me a good recipe.

In the end it came out beautiful. Just the right texture and firmness, and the color was perfect. A lovely red-orange. It is a tart jam, as the plums are rather tart, but I tend to prefer tart to sweet so it's perfect for me.

Not wanting to lose momentum, or waste the plums, I set out to make a second batch the very next day, this time adding equal parts sugar to plums (the first time I only added 800g sugar to 1kg plums) in an attempt to make it a bit sweeter. No dice. It's just as tart. I can only hope I can find enough people who like tart jams to give away my excess. There really is too much. And I still have another kilo of plums sitting on the kitchen table and several more waiting to be picked from the tree....

Awesome People

Sometimes you just have to remember how awesome the people are in your life. Or at least the majority of the people. Even if it takes a glass of Rakı or two. There is always good conversation available at dinner. And rationale, reasonable, really good friends are only a short email away. Sometimes you are lucky enough to catch them on skype. I really have been blessed (I mean that in a really non -religious way, maybe spiritual but not necessarily religious) with the people who surround me.