Moms will be moms

Welcome back, you good looking, dapper readers. Did you do something new with your hair? You look younger. More sophisticated.

Now that I have you hooked, prepare to be shocked:

Due to my current form of employment as a nanny, I spend a lot of time with small children. Cue gasp and looks of surprise and awe. 

Yet, even though I change a lot of diapers, make a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and give a lot of single eyebrow raised did-you-really-just-do-that looks to people all under three feet tall, people rarely mistake me for a mom. The reason for this is quite simple. Beyond the lack of actual offspring (the world really isn't ready for Adaline: The Sequel) and high rise denim, I lack a very specific gene that becomes apparent (see what I did there?!) the instant a woman welcomes a child into her life. This gene, along with boring eyes into the back of their heads and elevating their hearing to supersonic levels, causes these women to envelop anyone they meet in momness (trust me, this is a real thing. I'm a scientist). It is this gene that makes my own mom sheppard young 4Hers through raising animals for the fair, year after year, even though I have long since hung up my 4H uniform. It's this gene that makes Stephanie reach over and strong arm me in the car whenever she slams on the brakes (which happens quite frequently. This is Turkey, after all). And it is this gene that made my recent visit to Izmir magical.

After one train ride, one delayed flight and hiding in a hotel to avoid an old man who tried to drag my poor, directionally challenged self to his hotel (note to future travelers: never agree to walk down a dark alley with a stranger. This seems like common sense, but the gentleman in question seemed shocked when I wouldn't go with him. He also seemed surprised when I told him that if he didn't let go of my hand I would be happy to scream until his ear drums burst), I finally made it to Izmir. The city is right on the water and boasts beautiful architecture...:

 ...a huge bazaar where you can find everything from dinner to wedding dresses to creepy mannequins like these...:

Seriously, what are you selling besides sparkle filled nightmares?!

...cool sculptures that vaguely resemble a deconstructed boat. Or a whale skeleton (so much for that marine science degree)...

...and delicious seafood!

Izmir has an interesting history as an ancient port city (for my historically inclined readers, aka Dad, you can find more information here), and is surrounded by some ridiculously awesome ruins including St. Mary's house, the temple of Artemis and, the showstopper, Ephesus. With so much to see and no car or directional capabilities, I figured my best option was to pay for a tour. So, bright and early Tuesday morning, I got into a van with these people...:

...who became my family for the day. Next to my awkward, wind blown self is Yi-Ching, followed by Nora, her daughters Nikita and Karina, and her husband, Cliff.  Nora immediately began momming both Yi-Ching and myself, and within an hour or two we were being treated like long lost members of the family. She argued with a rug salesman to get me a better price on an authentic Turkish carpet (score!), and insisted that the tour company allow me to travel with them for an extra few hours while they all waited for their flight back to Istanbul that night. I honestly can't thank them enough, not just for buying me dinner that night or for taking lots of pictures for me, but for being so welcoming and inviting me into their little family for a day. It really made my trip! Of course, sights like these also helped:

First, we saw Mary's House. I was warned by two of my favorite seasoned travelers that it would be cheesy, but I didn't think it was so bad (granted, this is coming from the woman who told her cousin she couldn't camp because it was too 'in tents'. I may not be the best judge of these things).

Although there is no official evidence this was Mary's final residence, John the Baptist, her caretaker, did settle in Ephesus...

and the building was discovered after reading the visions of Catherine Emmerich, who described the exact location and number of rooms despite being bedridden in Germany.

Regardless of its authenticity, thousands of people visit everyday, and many leave prayers and wishes on the wall in hopes they will be answered.

Next it was off to the Temple of Artemis. One of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, only one of the original 127 columns is still standing (they rebuilt it 3 different times before it finally was ruined for good. I probably would have given up by then, too).

After a fashion show at a leather factory (yes, it was exactly what it sounds like. This blog is family friendly, so there will be no photos...;) and a carpet making demonstration it was off to Ephesus! The post is getting a little long, so I'll let the pictures do the talking (if you're devastated by my lack of information, go here. If you're missing my witty commentary, go here).

According to our guide, this was an early version of backgammon. The boards were all along the street so that vendors had something to do on slow days.

Some would say I look like an arch angel (I'll let you know when I find out who the some are).

A shopkeeper was confused how we all knew each other because we looked like a "mini United Nations." Ironic, because that's where Cliff and Nora both work!

The goddess Nike.

Public toilets! Talk about getting to know your neighbor...

The Library at Ephesus!

The Library from behind a brothel across the street. There was a secret passageway between the two (scandalous!). It makes you wonder how many husbands told their wives they were going to the library to study anatomy (our guide made that joke, so please redirect your eye rolling and judgement).

So there you have it. It's amazing how you don't recognize how much you miss being mommed until you're in your mid-twenties and half way around the world from your own (shout out to Mom Padlina! I love you! And I'm sorry again for telling you I was trapped in Turkey on April Fools! ;). So one last time, thanks to Nora, Cliff and the rest of the gang for treating me like one of their own. Hopefully I'll find another family who's willing to adopt a slightly spastic 25-year-old when I head to Istanbul on Monday...or at least who'll put up with one following them around. Otherwise who knows where I'll end up.

Safe travels,
Adaline

P.S. I know that one of the coolest, most stylish moms I know is going to read this and hassle me about my mom jeans comment. In fact, she just started a fashion blog that you guys should all check out here! Rumor has it her photographer is pretty good, too, and I can confirm that neither have rocked the mom (or in my case, nanny) jeans :).

A Whole New Whirled

Alright, fine readers, get out your black robes and white collars because it's confession time: I am a procrastinator.

It's a bit of a problem, probably second only to my coffee addition and a close tie to my recent obsession with the MTV show Catfish (seriously, how do people go years 'dating' someone without meeting them?! WHAT IF THEY HAVE UNBEARABLE HALITOSIS?!). It is not, however, a new problem. In fact, there are some reading this blog that would tell you my 6th grade teacher dubbed me Miss Molasses, but I am not at liberty to confirm or deny this accusation. The point is, it took me 10 weeks to finally attend a Whirling Dervish ceremony. That, my friends, is embarrassing for several reasons. First, it's free, and I NEVER turn down free things (especially if there's food involved, but that's another story). Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, it's Konya's thing. It's akin to going to Paris and waiting to see the Eiffel tower. Going to Italy and waiting to eat pasta. Going to Newport and waiting to go to the Hatfield Marine Science Center (I'm sorry, shameless plug. I can't help myself.). So last Saturday Stephanie and I decided we could tear ourselves away from Catfish for one night and become more whirledly by attending the ceremony, also known as a Sama.

Now, before I wow you with a thrilling account of our adventure, let me drop some knowledge on you. The Dervishes, who whirl in remembrance of God, are members of a specific branch of Islam known as Sufism who follow the teachings of Rumi, a prominent Persian theologian. Still with me? According to Wikipedia, Rumi was rolling through town one day when he heard goldbeaters (who presumably have nothing to do with gold diggers...;) hammering out a rhythm that sounded like "there is no god but the God". As many of us are wont to do, Rumi heard a good beat and was so enthused he put up his hands and broke out in some epic dance moves. His followers embraced the dance, and the current Sama ceremony was born.

I should point out that this has happened to me several times, and not ONCE has it become a religious ceremony. Clearly I need new moves. And probably followers.

The ceremony has evolved over time, and now has four specific parts. To start with, a lone singer offers praise to God, and a reed flute is played.

After about 20 minutes of this, the Dervishes come out. They wear black robes (a symbol of the grave) and walk around in a circle. They all bow to each other, and then kneel together and remove their black robes to reveal the shiny white gowns most people picture when they think of the Dervishes.

After that, it's time for them to rock your whirled! The dervishes spin on their left foot, with their right palm facing up toward heaven and their left palm down toward the ground to signify the spiritual journey each believer must take to find God. They complete four sets of whirls before ending the Sama with readings from the Qu'ran and a final prayer.

It turns out that if you start a religion and millions of people connect to your writings about love and tolerance you're kind of a big deal. In the case of Rumi (or Mevlana as he is known in Turkish) they create a huge museum about your life and give you one of the coolest tombs I've ever seen. A few weeks before attending the Sama, I spent a day perusing the Mevlana museum.

After the Dervishes were no longer living together here, they converted the buildings into a museum. Each small cell (you can see the entrances in the above picture) where one of the Dervishes would have lived now houses a few artifacts, information about Rumi and his followers and, on occasion, a creepy mannequin or two.

This wasn't written in the information, but I'm pretty sure this is what the Dervishes did before Facebook was around for entertainment. You know you didn't want to share a wall with the symbol player.

These were carried by merchants, who used the scythe on the left for (shock and surprise) protection from robbers. The middle and right objects are tongs of some sort, but I was never able to figure out what they were used for. Blogger fail!

A shirt owned by Mevlana's oldest son. They say all styles repeat themselves...

A creepy mannequin Dervish used to show what life in the cells would have been like. Also used to scare American tourists.

The entrance to the building housing Rumi's tomb.

But where are the awesome tomb pictures?! Alas, us mere tourists are not allowed to take photographs inside the building. Fortunately, though, my good friend Google had some stashed away that you can see here, along with a little more information about Mevlana and a few pictures of the decor around the tomb.

So there you have it. I hope you'll stayed tuned for my two final posts about my trips to Izmir and Istanbul before I head back to Corvegas next week. In the mean time, here's a little gem for you to ruminate on:

"If you are irritated by every rub, how will your mirror be polished??" -Rumi

No wonder the guy has his own museum. ;)

Safe travels,
Adaline

Blondes Probably Have More Fun

Why welcome back, fine reader! Before we start today, I'd like to take a little walk down memory lane to a housewarming party McSteamy and I attended just a few weeks after finding out that I had a new nannying gig in Turkey. While standing on the periphery of the crowd (having a brief but intense moment with some spinach dip) I met Atil, who had just moved to Corvallis and is an Istanbul native. Thrilled to meet someone who not only shared my passion for cheesy, spinach-y goodness but who also had the inside scoop on all things Turkish, I launched into a breathless monologue where I told him all about my new job opportunity and asked him roughly 10,000 questions about what I should expect. After thoughtfully munching on his sourdough and dip he looked me straight in the eye, and, with no sarcasm or irony, said Well, you probably won't be raped or killed or anything. But people are going to stare. Yeah...you're definitely going to get stared at and pointed at.  When I asked why I would be stared at, Atil simply shrugged his shoulders. You're blonde, he answered. People don't look like you in Turkey. But don't worry. You'll probably be fine. More dip?

Friends, let me stress to you that probably is not the adverb you want to hear when discussing your personal safety in a foreign country. (Or, for the record, your girlfriend's safety. Later that night, McSteamy asked me if maybe I should dye my hair before I left.)  However, I am happy to report that Atil was right about everything. Nine weeks into my adventure I am still very much alive and well, feel very safe, and for the most part have gotten used to the sideways glances and occasional stink eyes brought on by the faux pas of me being my very blonde, American self. I haven't been doing very much adventuring since my last post, so instead of pictures of food I thought I'd give you all my interpretation of Turkish culture, and highlight the biggest culture shocks I've experienced in the last 9 weeks.  Before we start, though, let me very clear about something (cue world famous Adaline eyebrow raise and nanny tone): everything I'm going to tell you is a GENERALITY! Turkey is a country of  74 million people. That's 74 million different sets of reactions, emotions and beliefs that can not and should not be contained in a single, non-Turkish-speaking American's blog. Obviously I can not speak for every single Turkish person, and if anything comes off as politically incorrect  or offensive I apologize. We will all assume it is due to my ignorance and/or inability to express myself. Do I make myself clear? (This is where you look mildly scared and shake your head yes). Excellent. Let us proceed.

Trumpets sound. Confetti streams down. A hush falls over the crowd as the drum roll begins... Ladies and Gentleman, I now present to you:

Adaline's 5 Biggest Culture Shocks of Turkey!!!
 

Turkish people are ridiculously welcoming...  If you've gotten to this point in the post you might be feeling a bit confused. But Adaline, you were just complaining about people staring at you. That's definitely true, but for the most part the stares aren't malicious or a la "Mean Girls." They are just genuinely confused about why there is a foreigner (or, when I'm with the fam, a group of foreigners) wandering around Konya. We're a bit more of a novelty here than if we were in Istanbul or another of the more popular tourist destinations, and we definitely dress and act differently than most of the people here. Most people don't speak English, but if they do they almost always start a conversation and welcome us to their country. If we're near a cafe or restaurant we're almost always invited in for Cay (Turkish tea) on the house, and we are regularly left homemade treats by our front door. For instance, while I was writing this post the doorbell rang and our neighbor was out front with these bad boys:

I'm unsure about the exact ingredients in the filling, but I'm pretty sure it was mostly unicorns and happiness.

I'm still willing to teach a class on the art of the subtle sideways glance, but overall we have been welcomed with a lot more graciousness than I first expected.

...and confused about why I'm here.  Konya is a fine city, but as I said earlier it isn't a huge tourist destination if you're not a devout follower of the teachings of Rumi (more on him in a later post). So, when I roll into town everyone is confused about why I'm spending time in Konya. Nannies aren't very common in Turkey either, so most of the time I just say that I'm visiting a friend (Stephanie and I decided that calling me her sister wife might be deemed inappropriate.;) Whenever people meet me, they always start with the same two questions: Where are you from and what are you doing here?  Then (presumably because of the high cheek bones and hipster glasses seen below) they almost always ask if I am German or Dutch.

 

It seems Oregon pale is similar to German pale...

Once we get through that (which honestly always confuses me, because by then I've usually told them I'm from the U.S.) the next question is usually if I'm married or not. This only counts as a culture shock because it's not my personal go-to when making small talk, but maybe that's just me. I get asked it a lot from members of both genders, though, and occasionally I think they're scheming to hook me up with their cousin or some such nonsense. Better watch out McSteamy... ;)

 

Lines are for squares. For all of their niceness, there is one place you don't want to be in Turkey: in line. I mentioned in an earlier post that it took me over an hour and a half to get through the line to get my Visa, solely because people will cut in front of you in every single line. This has happened to me at the airport, at the mall, and even at the grocery store. I missed a tram today because I simply got pushed out of the way. I've done my fair share of traveling, but I've never been in a place where the people are simultaneously so nice yet aggressive (hmm, now that I think about it, that could describe my all girls highschool experience, too). Driving is a similar situation, in which the rules about tailgating, honking, and speed limits are more polite suggestions than actual rules. And blinkers? Let's just call them white surrender flags. I'm not exactly known for my driving prowess in the States, but I'm going to be thrilled to be back to the land of respecting stop lights and leaving a car's length between vehicles. 

And finally, the biggest one of all:

Turkish people LOVE children. As most of you know, this little bundle of cuteness is one-year-old Aliah. 

But who is that holding her? you ask. That, dear reader, is an excellent question. I have no idea. Just like I don't know who this person is:

 

 

 Or these people:

Or this guy:

In Turkey, it is completely normal for total strangers to walk up to you and take the child you are holding from your arms, or, if she's walking around, pick her up. A few will ask before they take pictures, but most whip out their phones and start snapping. They will kiss her, pinch her cheeks, caress her head and just generally go gaga over her. Stephanie told me that when they first got to Turkey, the cashier at the grocery story took Aliah out of the cart and kept her on her lap the entire time she scanned the groceries. It's not just Aliah, either: when Lexis goes into a store or restaurant, 9 times out of 10 she leaves with some sort of candy, toy or other treat. And this love of children is not limited to one gender or age group. I almost went into cardiac arrest when, at Troy's basketball game on my second day in Konya, a 40-something-year-old-man started taking pictures of Lexis on his phone. Stephanie's reaction to my hypervenilation? Turkey, baby. Old ladies, prepubescent boys, college students, you name it: all of them have come up and admired Aliah and Lexis at one point or another. As someone who's job it is to make sure that the children I'm with are safe and (if possible) happy, I'd be lying if I said this was something that didn't take some getting used to. It definitely has its perks, though: shopping and eating are both made a lot easier when someone else is holding the squirming one-year-old. :)

Even with the difference in culture, missing friends and family from home and a severe lack of bacon, the past nine weeks have flown by. I hope you'll stay tuned for my trips to Izmir and Istanbul before I close up the blog shop and head back to Corvegas, where I suppose I'll have to get used to not being the only blonde and using my blinker again. Well, probably. ;)

Safe travels,

Adaline

 

Beachy Keen

At halfway through my stay here in Turkey, it has come to my attention that I may have led some of you to believe that my job could be what the proverbial they call a "cakewalk." You might think that living with a kind and generous family who let me frequently take naps, have visitors, and make me copious amounts of popcorn is too easy. That watching two adorable, well behaved kiddos and going on trips with them doesn't qualify as a stressful, deadly, or even dirty job.

Well, fine readers, prepare yourself. This is the post where I prove you wrong. 

This last weekend we set off for the coastal city of Alanya on a Saturday afternoon after my first solo (read: harrowing) trip to the farmers market. This is where the 'deadly' part comes in. As I was crossing the street to the market, something that can only be described as the love child of a bee, fly and steroid-infused mosquito decided it wanted some special privileges and flew down my shirt. This was complicated for several reasons:
     1) This was the first bug I had ever seen than looked like this. Anywhere. I think there's a quote about fear of the unknown being worse than fear of the known, and if there isn't a quote already then there should be. There was no way I was calmly waiting for it to fly away.
     2) I was standing on the divider in the middle of a fairly busy street. While rather distracted by my impending winged doom I stepped down into the street and was honked at and flashed some ungentlemanly hand signs by the driver of a classy Renault. My life flashed before my eyes...and that rusty bumper.
     3) In case I haven't mentioned it previously, Turkey is a very conservative country. Konya, the city I'm currently living in and the home of the aforementioned farmer's market, is widely regarded as the most conservative city in said conservative country. If I was already flirting with the decency line by going out in my semi V-neck T-shirt and jeans, then waving my shirt open and closed to try and get a winged monstrosity out of my cleavage probably wasn't the ideal way to handle the situation. My bad. Let he who has had a bug fly down his shirt and maintained a state of decorum cast the first stone (or maybe, in this case, a bug zapper).

Alas, I survived unscathed and was able to make it through the farmer's market. On an unrelated note, when I was waiting to buy some oranges a gentleman also waiting in line took one look at me and said "Excuse me, but I can tell you don't speak Turkish. What would you like to buy?" A part of me wished I could have had a witty retort available in Turkish, but since he was right the only reply I could come up with was "uh...oranges?" It turns out my new friend Yaz was born in Australia, and was staying in Konya for a while visiting some family. He was quite lovely, and insisted on escorting me around the market until I had all of my groceries because "the vendors will take advantage of you if you can't speak Turkish," even if it meant leaving his brother and elderly mother to fend for their own carrots and cucumbers. To be honest, I spent the same amount of money as usual at the market, but it was sweet that a random stranger was concerned for my well being. :)

Once I was finished up at the market it was off to Alanya! The drive is only about 3.5 hours, but during that time we drove through a desert (outside of Konya), up into and through snow covered mountains and then ended up at a temperate coastline. Of course, my camera was safely packed away in the back (blogger fail!), but I assure you it was one of the quickest geography changes I have ever experienced.

Now for anyone reading this who has toddlers, you know very well that there is a limit to how far you can drive without being driven crazy. Lucky for us, that limit was reached at the Grenada Hotel!

It turns out the Grenada had just reopened on March 1st for the tourist season, but because it wasn't quite in full swing we got a nice discount. I would have stayed regardless: the buffet had an coffee bar open 24-7. It was more like a resort than a hotel, complete with a gigantic, bridge covered pool:

spectacular ocean views:

scenic, greenery covered grounds:

and even a little aquarium. Be still my marine-biology-degree-holding heart!

We had a lovely time, and it was nice to get out of Konya for a bit. The next day we ventured into downtown Alanya, where we found this castle:

Once we got up close and personal, it was really cool. It had a pretty epic view of the town below, too. Just another dangerous part of my job description: leaning over castles on cliffs to take pictures.

 I don't know anything about the castle, but for all of the Game of Thrones fans out there, the Turkish word for castle is Khaleesi. The more you know...

 Now, after a long, strenuous day of eating at buffets and viewing castles, you can't go wrong with some time at the beach.

 This was Aliah's first ever beach adventure! She was a big fan of the sand, but not as much of the water.

There you have it. If you thought my job was too easy, I hope this discussion of the perils of farmer's market shopping, the fear of leaning out of castles and the dirtiness of clinging beach sand have shown you that my every day here is filled with dangerous and stressful jobs.

Well, maybe not. But I did change a diaper today, so at least the job can get a little dirty. ;)

Safe travels,
Adaline