Turkish Muse

Bosphorus Brewing Company

For as many bars as there are in Istanbul, there have never been any pubs. Not until now, anyway. Now that the Bosphorus Brewing Company has opened, Istanbul has its first and very own family-owned and -run English pub, complete with homemade lagers, ales, sausages and mash, and yes, even Sunday roast.

It’s the kind of thing people in Istanbul have been waiting for for ages: a place where they can get good beer – not just Efes or Tuborg or Bomonti – accompanied by decent food with good service in a pleasant atmosphere.

It’s not a lot to ask, really, but in Istanbul – particularly in Beyoglu with its proliferation of identical bars all serving otuzluks of Efes for 9 TL – a good-quality pub has always been elusive, one step above and beyond the status quo offerings of surly barmen whose only qualification is their literal ability to draw a tap.

But the Bosphorus Brewing Company clearly had something else in mind when it opened in mid-November.

There are 5 beers currently on tap, with a stout to come (it was available at opening, but quickly sold out). My personal favorites are the Halic Gold, a lively and strong beer (7.4% alcohol) and the Beer 81.

Just last week, we celebrated a friend’s birthday there, and Jeff and I started off with the 5-beer sampler: 5, 5-cl shots of beer to get a taste of each one. While I liked the Icmedik and the Istanbul Pale Ale, both reminded me quite a bit of what is already on offer in the local beer market. I imagine both would be excellent served cold in the summer time on the pub’s terrace, but after the sampling, I immediately went for a glass of the Beer 81, followed by the Halic Gold.

The food is excellent, as well, and very English -- sausages and mash, beer-battered shrimp, lamb curry, steak in ale, chile con carne (served over rice, very strange to this American), bread pudding and sticky toffee pudding.

The pub was packed last weekend, its second after opening, which was a good sign but of course not entirely unexpected. Any new place here attracts an immediate and large crowd, which can quickly wane as the months wear on and people grow bored and search out the next new thing.

While the Bosphorus Brewing Company is a boon for expats, pub culture does not really exist in Istanbul. As foreigners were pounding back beers last weekend, a large table was crowded with Turkish people, many of them women, each of who appeared to sip one beer over several hours. Clearly, local café culture -- in which people sit for hours sipping 2-3 teas and paying 3 TL for it -- will not transition well to a British pub.

Still, the Bosphorus Brewing Company offers something no one else in the city does, and for that, it is very likely to develop a loyal and faithful crowd.

More info: Bosphorus Brewing Company website

Telling a Different Story

In the past year, I've travelled to Istanbul countless times, cooked and baked some amazing food, drank Guiness in Ireland with my in-laws, spent a raucuous weekend in Bodrum with friends, visited London for the first time with my best friend, celebrated my 30th birthday in Paris, and on and on.

I wanted to tell you about it, all of it, and yet I didn't. I wasn't on hiatus from writing exactly, but on a long -- okay, very long -- hiatus from this blog, from this space, which I had been feeling for a long time no longer reflected the life I was leading.

The second reason I didn't write on the blog very much was because the last year has not been the easiest of my life, and I wasn't sure how much of myself I wanted to put out here. I wanted to hole up inside, bake brownies and pretend that nothing was wrong. But I couldn't bring myself to pretend that nothing was wrong here, to all of you, because I knew it wasn't true and somehow that didn't seem fair.

The problem was that I didn't know how to say what I wanted to say. A lot of what I wanted to say didn't seem to fit here, didn't fit in with previous stories and posts, and I was stymied by what I thought you all came here for and what you wanted to read. And so I didn't say anything.

To be honest, for a long time, that was liberating. To not consider every meal, every event, a story or a post or something I had to share. And since I figured you all came here for restaurant reviews and pithy stories about street cats, I figured I couldn't write about the pubs in Galway or birthday cocktails at Harry's New York Bar because....that's not what this space is supposed to be about.

But this morning I woke up and realized that in not writing anything, anything at all, that I am wasting this space as a forum for writing and thinking and musing and that I was throwing away five years of online living just because I didn't know what I wanted to say right here and right now.

And honestly, I still don't exactly know what I'm going to say here. This space I'm in now is fluid and flexible and a little bit confusing, but part of me is hoping that I'll figure a few things out here, on this blog, where I'll just write what I feel and what I want and the rest be damned.

 

Having Your Cake and Eating it Too

A couple of weeks ago a summons for jury duty arrived at my parents' house for me. This was surprising to me for two main reasons: 1) I've actually never been called for jury duty, which is surprising in that I'm 29 and have spent the last decade as an adult American citizen; you would've thought I'd have been called earlier; and 2) I haven't lived at my parents' house in a decade.

It was really the second reason that made me pause. When I thought about it, not only did I realize that I have not lived in Mechanicsburg, PA in exactly 10 years, but I also have not worked there since I was 18. Strange that it took this long for them to send me a summons, when I never received one in the three years I lived as a tax-paying working adult in Philly or the one year I lived in Kansas.

The summons was for the month of October and did not specify a date or even a week I would be needed. Very easily, I went online and filled out a request for disqualification, which was granted in less than 24 hours, the reason most certainly being that I do not live in the state of PA. (I suspect that when the state says they will pay for your transportation expenses to and from court, they don't mean an $800 plane ticket.)

To be clear, I have nothing against jury duty; in fact, I think it's a privilege to serve and I am frankly aghast at how some of the most progressive, liberal Americans manage to "get out" of having to serve by lying or making up all manner of excuses. It's precisely those kinds of people I'd want to have on a jury. (The progressive, liberal kind, not the lying kind, obviously.)

It was about the time that the letter came that I made the decision to visit the US this month. This was a rather abrupt decision, completely unplanned or thought out really. After I booked the tickets, though, I realized I could spend a morning at the PA Department of Motor Vehicles getting my driver's license -- which expires on Oct. 24 -- renewed. This would work out great, I thought: I've got the jury duty summons letter as proof that I "live" in PA and can thus obtain a PA state's driver's license

(In case you're wondering, the US federal government does not issue driver's licenses; only individual states do and in order to get a state driver's license, you have to prove residence there.)

However, in the year since I have last been in the US -- when the rules to prove PA residencey were much more lax and I unfortunately forgot my social security card, a crucial part of getting a new driver's license -- the laws have changed and you now need two of the following in order to prove residency in PA:

1. Tax records;
2. Mortgage documents;
3. Lease agreements;
4. W-4 form (a form showing wages from employment);
5. Current weapons permit;
6. Current utility bills.

Let's all just do a collective "WTF?!?" on No. 5.

Now that's done, um, yeah, I don't have a single one of those things, so no driver's license for me. After Oct. 24, I will no longer be able to operate a motor vehicle anywhere in the world. That means no driving in Spain this Christmas and no driving the Aegean coast of Turkey next summer. Drats.

So I can't serve on a jury, nor can I get a driver's license.

At least I still have my passport and can vote for president.

Long Haul

 

Way back in July, Jeff's mom sent him a box of some books he needed for the fall semester. As these things go, the box didn't get here till late this week, almost three months after she sent it. Inside was a surprise bag of miniature Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, which, as you can see, are a little worse for wear from their high summer overseas trip. But once you dig out the aluminium foil that's managed to embed itself into the chocolate-peanut buttery mess, they still taste pretty damn great.

Two-Way Ticket

This week I purchased two, round-trip tickets from Izmir to New York City to visit family later this year. It was a long time coming, as we haven't been back to the US since February 2010, which means that by the time we get there, it will have been some 20 months or so since our last visit.

Many of my non-Turkish friends head to their "home" countries much more frequently than that, at least once a year, maybe more, but Jeff and I average a trip more like every two years. We find it difficult to find the time -- Jeff is restricted quite heavily by his teaching schedule (not every teacher gets summers off, you know) -- but we have managed to plan this year's trip around Kurban Bayram, so that at least one week of it is a sanctioned holiday.

And though earlier this year, we entertained serious thoughts of going to the US this August (as in, next month), once we started looking at airfare we simply couldn't justify paying more than $3000 to fly to the American suburbs at the hottest time of the year. 

I always feel some anxiety about going back to the US, and it's not just because of the time and money factor. It's because I can never please anyone by going back, least of all myself (so that whole maxim about making yourself happy and everyone else be damned doesn't really apply here). Everyone wants something different from us, and I simply cannot make everyone 100% happy.

And I guess I'm feeling a bit of anxiety about something else too because I had this dream the other night where I went to the US and then I didn't come back to Turkey.

I can't remember the particulars of the dream, like where I was, or who I was talking to, but I remember quite clearly what I was saying and the sense of anxiety that pervaded in my dream. I remember listing all the reasons I couldn't stay in the US, that I had to go home:

"But I don't have a job here! Don't you know what the economy is like here? I have a really good job in Turkey, and I'd like to keep it!"

"What about my 4 cats? I can't just leave them in the flat! Someone will put them on the street!"

"But all my friends are in Turkey!"

"But my life is in Turkey! I can't leave it behind!"

Sometimes, when I'm being 100% rational, I know I won't stay in Turkey forever. Or maybe I will. I don't actually know. But every time I think about going back to the US for good, I cringe a little inside. Emotionally, I am simply not ready to give up the good life I've created for myself here.

Which is why, when I woke up, I -- I admit this is absurd -- I double-checked the confirmation email Turkish Airlines sent me and reassured myself that I had indeed purchased a two-way ticket, one that goes from Izmir to NYC and then back again.

As far as nightmares go -- and I have plenty of those -- this one was pretty tame. I didn't wake up still feeling anxious; in fact, I remembered the dream only much later in the morning, hours after I had woken up. I'm not big on dream psychology, but I do wonder if this whole episode is some kind of sign or something, like (at the risk of stating the obvious) that the real reason I drag my feet on going to the US is that I'm worried somehow I won't be able to get home again.

Or maybe this is me already fighting the onslaught of questions I am expected to hear that go along the lines of, "When are you coming home again for good?"

A Life Once Lived in Istanbul

I took a walk today in Istanbul.

I was at breakfast in Cihangir when I decided to walk to Taksim the long way and pass the apartment we used to live in before we moved to Izmir two years ago. I hadn't seen it since we left, and since I was alone, I was free to cater to my whims.

On the way, I passed the pet shops where I bought 10-kilo bags of cat litter and searched, in vain, for felt mice for my cats to play with. I walked by Susam Cafe and remembered that when Jeff and I first came to Istanbul, we used to eat fajitas there.

I passed the Cihangir Manav and wondered why I didn't buy fruit and vegetables there more often. I walked by the three-storey house I toured when we were searching for an unfurnished flat to rent and wondered who decided to move into a house where the front door opens straight into the kitchen.

And then I turned onto the street where Jeff and I last lived in Istanbul. This wasn't the first house we lived in -- that one is three streets away from the second one -- but I didn't go by there today. 

The building, which used to be a mint green color, is now a soft yellow. The windows were open on the top-floor flat where we used to live and I noticed that the screens Jeff and I had put in after our cat fell out the window were gone.

I wondered if the people living there now had cats. I wondered if they, too, cursed that awful bathtub that was too high to climb into. I wondered if they barbequed on the balcony the way we did.

I stood outside the building and thought about all the parties we had in that apartment. I thought about the friends who came for dinner and stayed the night and made us breakfast in the morning. I mostly thought about all the people who had passed through the front door for food, for drinks, for company, some of whom are no longer in Turkey.

I thought all this and was glad to be wearing my large sunglasses so no one could see the tears filling my eyes.

Suddenly those two years we lived in Istanbul felt so far away, like another world, another time. I felt like a different person than the one who lived in that two-bedroom flat with four cats. Suddenly I was fiercely sad for that old life in this city.

I finally tore myself away from the building but I couldn't stop my nostalgia. I walked up towards Taksim and meandered down Istiklal, remembering the cafe where Jeff and I used to eat ice cream and the bar where we celebrated a colleague's birthday till 2am. I noticed that even though so many things were different, so much of the city looked the same.

I miss this city. I miss that time.

 

Would We Stay or Would We Go?

In the aftermath of the Japanese earthquake several months ago, interspersed with heart-wrenching stories of people rendered fatherless, motherless, childless and homeless by the earthquake were stories of foreigners living in Japan who were wondering what to do now that their homes and lives had also been destroyed.

I read those stories with a lot of interest because I, too, am an expatriate living in a foreign country on a major fault line. I was shocked by what I read in some of those news reports. Foreigners abandoning their cats and dogs, their homes, their friends and jobs, all for a one-way ticket back to their home countries. To be sure, some stayed, openly defying the wishes of their governments who had arrived to evacuate them out of the country.

Those stories made me think, of course, about how I would react in a similar situation. What would I do if there were a massive earthquake in Izmir and my house was destroyed? What would we do if the unthinkable happened here?

What would I do with my four cats? I would never leave them behind in any situation, not if I could help it. I've read that Americans being evacuated from Japan were not allowed to take their pets with them, and I thought, "How awful!" To me, and to a lot of Americans, our pets are part of the family: they go where Jeff and I go, no matter where that is in the world.

If an earthquake leveled Izmir, what would I do with all my possessions? My washing machine and bed and clothes and carpets? I'm not worried about the monetary value of such things or having to replace them, but wouldn't it be my responsibility to clean up at least my part of the mess? To dredge away my refrigerator to the landfill instead of making my neighbors and friends do it?

The thing is, Turkey is my home. It's been my home for almost four years. And though it isn't my forever home maybe, it's where I live now. I have made friends here and my neighbors like me. How awful would it be to abandon them if an earthquake were to hit Izmir?

A lot of my expatriate friends don't live in Turkey for work; they have jobs, yes, but they come second to their lives. They, like I do, live in Turkey because they like it here. We like the people and the culture and the food. It is where we have chosen to be at home, and Turkey has welcomed us graciously. If something happened here, I can't really imagine myself turning my back on Turkey.

Have you ever thought about these things? Am I the only one with these crazy thoughts? Maybe I worry too much. What do you think you would do?

How to Change Your Mobile Number in Turkey -- or Not

Do you guys watch "Modern Family"? That show, seriously, is the funniest show on TV right now. If you haven't seen it yet, you are in for a real treat when you get the first two seasons and settle in for a marathon of hilarity. 

That show is where I first heard the expression "Champagne problems" to refer to a problem that's not really a problem, one that we should all be so lucky to have, know what I mean?

A Champagne problem is when the heating floor mechanism in your bathroom isn't working and you have to step on a cold floor when you get out of the shower.

Or the brand-new, down comforter you just bought is too big to fit in your washing machine and you have to have it washed at the cleaners.

Or when you're trying to transfer your mobile telephone number to another company and your phone company won't let you do it.

That last one right there is the problem I'm currently facing. And yes, it is one of those not-really-a-problem-problems. See, I'd like to switch my mobile number from Turkcell to Vodafone because with Vodafone I can use my phone when I travel in Europe. I can't do that with Turkcell.

See where the Champagne part comes in?

The thing about mobile number portability is that the information that your current carrier -- in this case, Turkcell -- has on file for you has to perfectly match the information you've given your hopeful new carrier -- in this case, Vodafone. This is really as simple as showing your passport to someone at each shop, asking them to make sure all the info in your file -- like the spelling of your last name, where you were born, your passport number, etc -- is correct.

Problem is, Turkcell is giving me a hard time about it. I've asked them twice now to update my account information based on my new passport, and each time they say they've done it, and each time Vodafone comes back to me and says that Turkcell has incorrect information in my file that doesn't match Vodafone's. 

At first, I was suspicious of Vodafone, but then I thought: that doesn't make any sense. Why would they not want me to be a customer? My thoughts then drifted to Turkcell. It makes sense that they wouldn't want me to switch over, right?

And then I read this article in the Hurriyet Daily News in which I learned that Turkcell was just fined $58m for "breach[ing] competition rules regarding distribution". And I wondered, of course, if that had something to do with my problem.

Have you ever tried to move your mobile number to a new carrier in Turkey? Did you have any problems? Any advice is greatly appreciated!

 

My Favorite Thing About Turkey: Up Close and Personal with History

Paris! Anniversary! Wine! Cheese! Until I come back, more guest posts on what other people have to say about their favorite thing about Turkey. Today's post is from Wendi.

Living in Turkey has presented incredible opportunities. It has coupled with it unique challenges. There are many things I wish were different. There are a variety of things I miss about my “home” in the USA. I complain. I reflect. But one thing that I know I will always be able to look back on and be thankful for is the opportunity to see history up close and personal.

In 2010 my husband and I moved to the Adana area of Turkey. We have spent the year that follows attempting to take in as much of the past that this country can offer us. Living in the USA, you can't get more than a few hundred years old. Here in Turkey, a few hundred years old is usually your baseline.

A few highlights:

• Ephesus: In the Roman period, it was the second largest city of the Roman Empire, ranking only behind Rome! Ruins from Ephesus date back to the 1^st century BC. What an opportunity. What history.
• Cappadocia: Can actually be traced back to the 6^th century BC and is located in central Turkey. Cappadocia contains several underground cities used by early Christians as hiding places. The entire region is filled with fairy chimneys and houses were carved from these formations.
• Istanbul: It is hard to believe that I live in a country that boasts a city that served as the capital of the Roman Empire from 330-395. The history of this city dates back to around 660BC.

If you are a Bible reader, you will be amazed at how vividly the pages of the Bible will come alive to you in this country. We were able to see the place that Mary spent the last days of her life. We have been able to run on the shores of the Mediterranean. We have climbed castles that were built before Christopher Columbus ever sailed the ocean blue.

All because we had the great opportunity to spend a few years living in Turkey.

Wendi and her family in Ephesus

About the Author: Wendi and her husband JB have lived in Adana, Turkey since the summer of 2010 with their 2.5 children and dog. A retired English teacher by trade, she has spent the last six years editing and writing from home while taking care of their growing family. You can visit her life at Life in The ...

My Favorite Thing About Turkey: The Kindness of Strangers

The Turkey lovefest continues today! Today's guest post is brought to you by Phyllis Nobles.

I’ve been in Istanbul teaching English for 14 months now. And while I’ve studied successful blogs and started up a half dozen of my own, there’s always the morning that I wake up and take everything down. I even blogged from Venice in February, but once back in Istanbul felt I sounded so Elizabeth Gilbert [editor's note: EG is an American writer best known for her 2006 memoir "Eat, Pray, Love") that I deleted 26 of the most beautifully photographed posts you will never see.

You have to know that I am no Elizabeth Gilbert. Meaning, I’ve tried. And trying to be EG has to date cost me about $30,000. A long story from 2008 involving a Molotov Cocktail of an already desperate financial situation, a Doubleday editor who helped acquire "Eat, Pray, Love" who asked to see my unfinished manuscript, Credit Cards R Us, oh, and a recession. Ah, 48. Such a naïve and complicated age. Back when I thought I needed to model my life after someone else’s.

Which brings me up to Barbara, and her gracious offer to let me post while she’s in Paris. Barbara so wisely said about my blog crisis, I’m sure that as you continue writing you will find your writing niche and your blog will feel more like home to you. Which brings me to my favorite thing about Istanbul: the kindness of strangers.

People who don’t even know you and need nothing from you who hold out their hands. The guy at the bakery who offers you a bite of something sweet. Or the olive and the pistachio men at the grocery. The bus driver who spots you — the crazy American walking on the edge of a dangerous highway — and gives you a ride back to the city. The family out in the country whose garden you admire who invites you in for tea.

And these guys whose photograph I wanted to take who made me sit down first to talk — even though they don’t really speak English and I don’t really speak Turkish.

I’ve found something very retro American, circa late 1960s about Istanbul. Back when we cared more about people than about money. And happiness. Which brings me up to one morning last week when — thanks to Barbara’s advice that I thought about all evening — I woke up a million miles from home at home inside my own skin. Something that has miraculously solved all my blogger problems. And, I suspect, my Elizabeth Gilbert Complex.

About the Author: Phyllis Nobles is from Oxford, Mississippi, USA and is editing "Cowgirl Up: How to Write a Best-Seller in a Chick-Lit Market", "totally 20☮ how i spent my economic crisis" and a new blog at The Sweet Life of Phyllis Nobles.