Sounds of the City

I spent my Fourth of July completing a copious number of fill in the blank and reading comprehension questions. For obvious reasons, Turks don't fuss over the Fourth of July. Big Brother's independence day is just another day, complete with the regular sounds of fireworks at 10 pm. Several of my classmates were blase about missing the Fourth, which of course means they have never done the Fourth right. Blase just doesn't go with illegal fireworks, hiding from the police, margaritas and coleslaw.

The noises outside my apartment windows are strangely orienting. On account of the heat, the windows are always open which means there is an incessant stream of American pop, Euro trash or Latin beats streaming in (today it sounds like the Dirty Dancing sound track). I have no idea where this music comes from and it contrasts strangely with the call to prayer played five times throughout the day.

At night the sounds become stranger. The nightly fireworks have become commonplace but the shrill whistling that begins at 12 am and often continues for an hour has yet to become less eerie. Like the music, the sound's source is a mystery. Finally, there's the awful sound of fighting cats and dogs. Istanbul is replete with stray animals and while they seem docile enough during the day, the nighttime snarling makes me wonder why there aren't more maimed animals wandering about.

Again please, and perhaps slower...

The main campus of Boğaziçi University is a twenty minute walk from the Superdorm, which is actually the real name of the residence hall in which I am staying.

(Dorm is not a Turkish word. In fact, one of my favorite things about Turkish is that the word for dorm is yurt, as in "Genghis Khan lived in a larger yurt than the lesser tribal chiefs".)

Although I was advised that "summers in Istanbul are not oppressively hot" the humidity compensates for the moderate temperatures. The twenty minute walk, half of which follows a busy street, feels twice as long on the worst days and leaves us flushed and sweating by the time we reach our classrooms. The Turks seem comfortable, somehow fortified against the heat. Worse than that, the women somehow manage to look chic, despite the walk and lack of air conditioning. I meanwhile look wilted by 10am.

Classes officially started yesterday. From nine to one I sit in room 475, save for the occasional trip to the language lab. The instructors rotate from room to room throughout the day -- each day, our schedule rotates so that no two days of the week are the same. For example, on Mondays I have two hours of grammar, followed by one hour in the lab and then one hour of reading. Tuesdays begin with two hours of reading,followed by lab and finally an hour of writing. I can tell already that this pattern won't sink in until week five our so. Until it does, every hour is a surprise.

Regardless of the subject, my classes are uniformly exhausting. No more than ten words of English were spoken today. All lessons are conducted in Turkish -- fast Turkish -- and even words are defined by using examples, rather than the English definition. Staying tuned in all day is perhaps the most intellectually challenging thing I have ever attempted.

I should also mention that my collection of Turkish books has increased exponentially. I am now the proud owner of fourteen assorted workbooks, dictionaries and instruction manuals. I have the begining of quite a collection.