Christians, Coughs and Cappadocia

I'd like to extend an apology to Istanbul: I have become one of those people who cough on public buses. And in the office. And on small children with weak immune systems.

Two weeks ago, I boarded a bus headed for Cappadocia with The College Friend and her Mom. Eleven hours later, we were deep in Anatolia surrounded by the former cave houses of early Christians, and the so-called "fairy-chimneys", towering phallic rock structures that... well, I can't really finish that sentence without it turning into the punch line of a penis-joke, now can I?

It feels flippant and even cliché to say that Cappadocia was amazing, but it's the kind of place that defies description and demands awe. I kept thinking -- with my camera pressed to my face -- that I could take thousands of pictures of the region's underground cities, iconoclastic remains and cave-side homes without ever conveying how special, how amazing the place really is.

I crawled through so many fresco covered eighth- and ninth-century churches and soot covered former kitchens, all carved into the soft rock faces of the region's strange and alien terrain. The underground city was ten stories "deep", complete with winery, stable, monastery, wells... Of course, despite the awe-factor of the place, I couldn't help but wonder who would want to live underground, where you tell day from night by peeking up a chimney that reveals a postage stamp of sky.

Turns out the Christians who lived there weren't too keen on the whole troglodyte thing either since they only took to the underground city when the Romans were in town. In fact, the passage ways in the city were [are] purposefully tricky, full of bumps and ceilings that rise and fall before you have a chance to duck. Giant mill stones, once used to close off rooms and halls from enemies, sit as a reminder that the Romans were some nasty bastards.

After four days in Cappadocia, I was ready to petition the government of Turkey to change the word's official meaning. "Cappadocia" is an ancient Persian word which means land of beautiful horses. I think the word should translate as, "Life for early Christians was hard."

Back to my cough: after five days in Cappadocia, I was sick. Things stayed under control until the Ankara bus station where I stumbled into a bathroom and joined the line for the Western toilet. Turns out all I needed was a place to throw up, in which case a squatter seemed fine. My advice is to reject this thought if it ever occurs to you. The custodian assigned to the bathroom began yelling at me in rapid Turkish which only became more strident when I began using the sink to wash the vomit off my shoe. I'm not sure what she expected me to do. It was very hard to remain polite.

Somehow, I found my bus again and managed nine more hours on the road without incident. When I finally arrived home -- I left for Istanbul at 8:30am and arrived at 9:00pm -- I literally fell into bed and stayed there for a week. My neighbors, who are also my co-workers, rallied to my aid, but it was nevertheless a truly horrid week.

So, hence the lack of posts lately, and hence the cough.

(Note: More pictures soon. The wireless I am borrowing from my neighbors is painfully slow tonight.)

Squatting

The squat toilet and I have met on exactly four occasions: once in old, downtown Istanbul, twice at bus stations on the way to Ankara and yesterday on the ferry to the beach. Generally speaking, I do not "squat"; I sit, I recline, I occasionally kneel. Squatting is position I reserve for yoga class and peeing in the woods. No longer.

Thanks to my habit of wearing skirts, none of these encounters have been (especially) traumatizing. I say especially because one of the bus stop toilet floors was coated in a slimy grime so slick that I was more afraid of slipping it it than I was of peeing on my foot. That experience could have gone very bad very quickly. Still, I have so many questions! How do old people with bad hips go like this? How far back should one lean? How is it possible that a person manage to pee without completely removing her jeans? The Internet has unfortunately failed to provide me with all the answers.

Squat toilet in the Sultan's harem at Topkapi Palace. Straddle the long cavity facing parallel to the gold faucets. And try not to pee on your shoes.

Most newer buildings have both Western and Eastern toilets. In the Bosporus University women's bathroom that I use several times a day, there are three "normal" toilets and one dangerous one. What intrigues me is how comfortable Turkish women are with squatting. Every day I see someone opt for the squat toilet, even though the other toilets are available. I understand it's all about what you're used to. Naturally, someone who grew up squatting and peeing into a hole in the floor is more comfortable with the idea than I am. Even the facilities at girl scout camp (not including the bushes) were slightly more elaborate than your typical Turkish toilet.

Today, I saw the same thing: a young Turkish woman walked past the three empty Western toilet stalls and went about her business (full business, if you know what I mean) in the Turkish stall. I should note that when I go about even the smallest business with a squat toilet, I am focused -- all items are hung on the door, everything below the waist is removed. Complete concentration is devoted to "hitting my target" so to speak. But when this woman's cell phone rang, she answered it. While squatting.

The whole incident reminded me of a dodge ball program I put on at UT two years ago -- despite my best efforts, I am no good at either dodging things thrown at high speeds or hitting people with anything other than my fists. At one point, this huge black guy joined the game. How he managed as the team ringer with a cigarette in one hand and cell phone held to his ear in the other I have never understood. But there he was, untouched by the objects flying past his head while lobbing balls hard enough to leave a bruise on my thigh.

Dodge ball man, meet your multi-tasking match.

When it rains...

Turkish tummy has struck again, me its unfortunate victim. The cramping began yesterday afternoon. By night time, the gurgling in my lower intestines had started. This morning, the real fun began to unfold. The worst part about all of this (aside from the incredible loss of fluids) is that I had plans to go to the beach today. Not just any beach either -- an island beach 1.5 hours by ferry from the city. But I refuse to go until I get a gurgle-free hour from my stomach and I am beginning to fear that's not going to happen.

Unfortunately, I have no idea what I ate to do this to me. The only "different" thing I ate yesterday was half a meringue cookie from the local bakery. Certainly a few grams of egg whites and sugar couldn't do this? Not taking any chances, I threw out the other cookie half.

Not worth it.