Fortune Telling, Part II

Baklava and Turkish coffee. For dinner. For the record, I would do it again.

In typical American fashion, I would have preferred a bucket-size container of the sludgy, black drink -- I haven't had any coffee in almost two weeks and was starting experience withdrawl symptoms (most commonly observed as early morning irratability). Instead, I was served an typical espresso-size serving, the last of which has to be wasted on account of the grounds remaining in the cup.

But as Turkish rabbits can see the future, so can Turkish coffee sludge. Place the saucer on top of the glass, swirl three times clock-wise, flip over and set cup and saucer on the table to drain. The "ground trails" that remain in the cup hold your future. Unfortunately, Virginia's knowledge of coffee mysticism stopped there, and with it the knowledge of tomorrow's homework grade.

I guess I'll have to use the rabbits.

Hoş Geldiniz!

After two years of Turkish class, I felt moderately confident about traveling to Turkey, and you know, maybe even trying to talk to some of the people living there. After tossing around some greetings and thank yous though, two things -- and by things, I mean significant barriers to communication -- became very clear. First, classroom Turkish is not real Turkish. "Your father has beautiful eyes" nicely illustrates a double genitive construction but doesn't help get lost luggage out of Munich to Istanbul. Second, the problem with actually revealing that you (an American!) speak Turkish is that it causes people to speak Turkish back very, very quickly.

Welcome to Istanbul.

My introduction to the city began in a neighborhood named Ortakoy. Following my misguided adventure in beef tongue sandwiches (I blame jet lag for my brief lapse in vocabulary pertaining to anatomy) a handful of us set out to see the Bosporus, chase stray cats, drink Turkish beer and otherwise conspicuously mark ourselves as Americans. Sunday is market day in Turkey (aptly named "Pazar") -- Ortakoy's streets were lined with vendors wares ranging from beaded curtains to tea sets. Oh, and rabbit hair bracelets. Or at least what I thought were rabbit hair bracelets made from hair combed from these incredibly sedate rabbit families. Further Internet research revealed that these rabbits are actually regarded as fortune tellers. And while this doesn't explain their un-rabbit like behavior -- marked absence of hopping about, ear twitching, bunny sex, etc. -- it perhaps makes about as much sense as bracelets woven out of combed rabbit hair.

When I returned to my hotel room later that night I was greeted by a Turkish wedding taking place immediately below my window. Virginia (my roommate) and I eagerly assumed our front row seats and watched the madness, complete with Aretha Franklin renditions and strobe lights, unfold. The wedding was so loud it might as well have been in the room. Night two in Ortakoy brought a simialar scene on the patio below our window. Virginia didn't quite make it all the way under the bed when the first celabratory firework went off, but she definately had all vital body parts under cover. I may or may not have fallen out of my chair. I maintain that these reactions are natural among students of international relations. And, well, dogs.