tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87957259665169609212012-02-13T01:43:24.834-08:00"I am become a name; For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known: cities of men And manners, climates, councils, governments, Myself not least, but honoured of them all; And drunk delight of battle with my peers, Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. I am part of all that I have met; Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move." [Tennyson. Ulysses]Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.comBlogger591100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-21108531860587317882009-04-27T10:12:00.000-07:002009-05-01T10:43:36.297-07:00

Perfect timing, swine flu. Just what the world needs - another global crisis. As the numbers of swine flu deaths and confirmed cases rise worldwide, so does the fear mongering and transcontinental panic.So we don't have color coded threat levels, but mere numbers will work just fine as a scare tactic. We don't have definitive answers about suspected vs. confirmed cases, but color-coded

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-39532030937983593692009-04-22T05:50:00.000-07:002009-04-22T11:20:15.896-07:00

Me looking melancholy as I mourn the loss of my camera. Lost or forgotten items are par for the course when it comes to overseas travelling. Still, I like to pride myself on being a notch above the average traveller due to my organizational savvy; I've kept it together for nearly two years by strategically placing and obsessively compulsively checking and rechecking my bags and bod for

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-20185743022741401112009-03-25T11:17:00.000-07:002009-03-26T12:28:11.987-07:00

I don't know if taking belly dancing lessons in one of the art form's countries of origin is any more authentic than the cardio belly sculpting class I once took at LA fitness, but what the hell. I'm going to do it anyway. I googled "belly dancing Istanbul" and came up with a page of women in gauche costumes catering to Western fantasies and idealizations of the East.(Cue Edward Said)As far as I

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-20975613429518106082009-03-22T08:17:00.000-07:002009-03-22T12:53:44.916-07:00

Theft is a crime on multiple levels; it violates the ten commandments, the law, social codes of decent behavior and the cycle of karma.My leather jacket wasn't anything special. I'd only waited a year and a half to buy it, scouting out every leather establishment from the bazaar to the mall to find the perfect fit. I finally opted for a form fitting black bomber jacket from Mango - of all places

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-23596721129468291572009-03-11T10:43:00.000-07:002009-03-12T09:24:19.277-07:00

At any given point in time, there are at least 5-10 women in various stages of pregnancy at the school where I do this soul-testing and occasionally spirit-crushing job called teaching. Subtle hints indicate their status: they begin taking the elevator instead of the stairs, they stop drinking coffee or heading out to the "fag cottage" for a smoke and start wearing loose fitting clothing. I do

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-86826414654486653682009-02-28T13:26:00.000-08:002009-03-22T13:31:06.615-07:00

In this, my 70th blog post, I'd like to report on a sad state of affairs: I'm having a media meltdown of sorts. Television has never been my babysitter. I have always been one to prefer a good book over the idiot box or its cooler younger sister, the internet. Oftentimes I'd rather stare at the ceiling listening to music and watching the pictures in my imagination. Things changed when I moved to

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-89715040094592869112009-02-08T09:25:00.000-08:002009-02-08T11:06:51.084-08:00

I find it hard to believe that revisiting yoga has taken me so long. Perhaps halting a practice that I love for over a year has to do with the fact that I still maintan a certain allegiance to Bikram's and Brian Kest's power yoga in Chicago and Los Angeles, respetively. I associate the intensity of Sunday morning power yoga with a particular LA lifestyle that seems incomplete without organic

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-91754856884066175512009-01-18T08:02:00.001-08:002009-01-18T12:09:38.932-08:00

Day One:rice milk smoothie salad with carrot ginger dressingavocado and cucumber soup (delicious)Forget therapy, codependent relationships or hitting the sauce. When it comes to dealing with irreconcilable issues, I've opted for detox as my coping mechanism of choice. I'm talking good old-fashioned catharsis and denial. (Don't worry, no colonics, enemas, or prescription medications were used in

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-73343499410057785122009-01-11T07:44:00.000-08:002009-03-04T00:47:01.309-08:00

Call me sappy and neurotic, but I was particularly moved by Woody Allen's Vicky Christina Barcelona. "It will always be romantic because it will never be complete." This line got stuck on repeat in my head, and I spent much of the movie debating its validity with the actors on screen. If romance derives from longing, unfulfilled passion and the intrigue of the unknown, then romance will forever

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-8329253575076051302009-01-06T09:49:00.000-08:002009-01-06T12:11:49.250-08:00

I don’t need to reiterate the facts about the situation in Gaza. If you've been paying any attention to the news, no matter what station or side you adhere to, one thing is for certain: there is a full-blown crisis that only appears to be getting worse. What I do need is to process the why of it all.I can look at the situation as a bloody massacare: a disporportionate retaliation, the death of

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-73594704733486561152009-01-01T10:16:00.000-08:002009-01-03T10:16:29.261-08:00

An old woman cares for an even older woman in the apartment across the hall from me. They are both ill; the old one physically, the even older one mentally. Sometimes they sit out on their balcony while I sit on mine and we say hello.The caretaker is from Georgia (the country, not the state), and because Turkish is not her mother tongue I can understand her quite well. She has an unsightly mole

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-60310973618810980172008-12-20T11:19:00.000-08:002008-12-28T11:22:50.349-08:00

"I am astonished and disheartened by the very subjective view of the world that most people have, whereby they reduce everything to their own personal concerns and involvements. But perhaps, once again, that's particularly American." - Susan SontagAmericans abroad don't have a stellar reputation. I don't mean to generalize, for status depends on the person, the place and the political climate,

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-13532724655087542932008-12-15T15:35:00.000-08:002008-12-21T01:53:56.815-08:00

I don't know how long it takes to kill a sheep. Nor do I know precisely how one goes about doing so. I've never heard the sounds sheep make while dying, and I can't even imagine the process of turning a furry animal into the various lamb shanks, chops and doner kebaps of the world. I figure its just a quick slit of the throat, but I really don't like to figure such things. My trip along the

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-33475179937438513042008-11-27T12:37:00.000-08:002008-12-15T15:35:30.609-08:00

It should come as no surprise that my celebration of Thanksgiving was nonexistent this year. Well, I did go so far as to email myself a recipe for butternut squash soup from the New York Times. That counts for something, right?My lack of observance is not for lack of trying. A few of my American colleagues and I debated throwing a potluck Thanksgiving dinner, but the idea was nixed when we found

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-45721462405934289302008-10-27T12:02:00.000-07:002008-10-27T12:16:40.638-07:00

I had just made myself a cup of tea, tuned into election coverage, and typed in alizahrose.blogspot.com as I formulated a new post. Instead of my blog, I got a white page with sharp red font stating this message in Turkish and English. “Access to this web site has been suspended in accordance with decision no: 2008/2761 of T.R. Diyarbakır 1st Criminal Court of Peace.”This same message appears

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-72853679248789357862008-09-30T12:00:00.000-07:002008-10-21T03:37:51.966-07:00

With homage to Susan Sontag's essay, Notes on "Camp"1. A trip to Paris is incomplete without a jaunt to Versailles. Versailles is, hands down, one of the most opulent and ostentatious palaces on the face of the planet. Little did I know that the art of Jeff Koons, the post-modernist artist oft categorized with Andy Warhol and dubbed the King of Kitsch, would be on exhibit while I was there, due

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-68956837861813633982008-09-19T11:13:00.000-07:002008-09-23T06:42:57.873-07:00

Culture Shock is the name of a club I belonged to in high school. Once a month, my sheltered suburban friends and I would take a supervised field trip to an ethnic restaurant or artistic venue around Chicago with the intention of expanding our cultural horizons and temporarily popping the bubble in which we lived. Thanks to Culture Shock, I ate Thai and Ethiopian food and watched profanity filled

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-36694368975456641022008-09-14T09:11:00.000-07:002008-09-14T12:41:35.163-07:00

I have a small bone to pick with the clever literary device turned pop culture iconoclast formerly know as irony. Irony is overrated. Irony has become the character trait de jour, just like selfishness in the 80's and sexy sauciness around the time Sex and the City first premiered. Now don't get me wrong. I love me some irony: a burly biker in leather chaps and a pink tutu, Romeo killing himself

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-33355245235282983772008-09-10T20:59:00.000-07:002008-09-12T11:17:59.952-07:00

I can watch CNN and read the news online until the cows (or in this case, the elephants and the donkeys)come home, but there's nothing like being in a country while its elections are taking place. So not being in the U.S. during the presidential elections is kind of like being amidst palm trees and sunshine during Christmas. It just doesn't feel right. In any event, I attended my first meeting of

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-58949032525876736262008-09-04T02:52:00.000-07:002008-09-04T02:55:07.099-07:00

This cartoon from The New Yorker pretty much sums up the way I feel about most of the things that run through my head.

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-68884839319283115632008-08-27T11:22:00.000-07:002008-08-27T11:45:58.336-07:00

A quick note: Having recently channeled the Material Girl (see photo session below) I feel I must comment Madonna’s slight misstep with the whole comparing McCain to Hitler on her tour bru-haha. I appreciate what Madonna is doing; trying to incorporate politics into performance (is there a distinction, really?) and wield the influence that comes part and parcel with her star power. Art is the

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-81307861547791322532008-08-27T09:58:00.000-07:002008-08-27T11:20:41.636-07:00

I’ve always wanted to say that.And for the first time, while accompanying my street musician friends to their concert last Sunday morning, I could legitimately claim band affiliation. So maybe I was more of a half-ass groupie (I don’t own an album and I haven’t followed them on tour) than a bonafide musician, but either way I got to ride in the back of the car sandwiched between a Spanish cajon

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-51201807292709719082008-08-16T09:16:00.000-07:002008-08-16T10:43:30.124-07:00

'Life is a mystery/everyone must stand alone/I hear you call my name/and it feels like...home."I love Madonna. I always have. With every new incarnation, I love her more. I love that she crosses the line, takes risks that would sabotage most careers but somehow put her back on top, and yes, I even love her music. 'This is who I am/you can like it or not/ you can love me or leave me/aint' never

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-33574240493741982172008-08-15T16:43:00.000-07:002008-08-16T09:20:16.758-07:00

(yes this is my underwear) I am not quite ready for another transatlantic flight.The jet lag, the neck cramps, the awkward conversation with a stranger for ten hours. After two intercontinental round trips and a few domestic flights, I'm so over it. Oh, boo hoo. I can't complain. I sound like a spoiled jet setter with matching Louis Vuitton luggage.But really. I just unpacked and now I have to

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-45036188537073570662008-07-26T20:40:00.000-07:002008-07-28T21:14:47.052-07:00

I enjoy a summer special event just as much as the next gal. Well, sort of. Call me civilized, but craning to catch a glimpse of rich pseudo sailor's boats among a throng of people holding glowsticks and folding chairs standing in line for greasy ribs while being eaten alive by mosquitoes and then standing in another line for the port-a-potty amidst an olfactory cocktail of beer, bugspray and

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-80317090612028356482008-07-03T04:57:00.001-07:002008-07-06T21:07:20.164-07:00

Place: Back homeLocation: ChicagoCoordinates: beer gut and big tushieObservation #1In the weeks leading up to my return, many of my foreign co-workers and I salivated over the smell of summer wafting across the Atlantic. Home was merely the place chock full of the foods we couldn't find in Istanbul (or only the crappier, more expensive versions). A long time ago in a land far, far away, people

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-30410743386069695892008-06-23T04:11:00.000-07:002008-06-23T04:14:10.586-07:00

Those are, they say, the three types of people you can find living abroad. I’d like to consider myself part of a fourth group; mild-mannered teachers with a healthy passion for understanding the world. Truth be told, I’m not sure we really exist outside of some cross-bred manifestation of one of the three former groups. Besides, adding another category to the mix breaks up a great triumvirate.

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-30542838633330289292008-06-22T06:26:00.000-07:002008-06-22T06:58:13.205-07:00

In truth, I am not as concerned with a political decision as I am with its social consequences. I do not think the pressure to annul the amendment to lift the headscarf ban comes exclusively from high ranking officials. Despite orbiting in the same social spheres, the worlds of hijab and non-hijab wearing women at times seem light years apart. When they collide a powerful chain of events is set

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-64221961659416548452008-06-16T12:24:00.000-07:002008-06-16T12:31:27.212-07:00

I’ve been intrigued by the controversy surrounding the hijab. Short history lesson: Since the formation of the Turkish republic, in all public institutions throughout Turkey headscarves (along with beards and other such religious regalia) are banned. When the AKP government voted in favor of a constitutional admendment to lift the ban, protesters came out in droves. Many feared that the AKP

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-51648037059184249422008-06-16T12:20:00.000-07:002008-07-15T22:01:24.074-07:00

At times it feels like my life is relegated to a narrow moving walkway, the likes of which you find in airports and subways around the world. “Foreigners, please stand on the right hand side and hold onto the guardrail for safety. All others are free to pass on the left.” Technically I am living in Istanbul, working in Istanbul, and moving through the space that is Istanbul, but when I get too

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-6964973006819859432008-06-06T13:37:00.000-07:002008-06-06T14:06:45.076-07:00

I'll be honest with you. I was afraid to even broach the subject. Something as ethereal and delicate as love can't be tethered down with a few blunt words. So my idea was that if I cast a wide net, I'd somehow be able to capture everything in the vicinity of love. Maybe amidst the kelp and minnows of confusion and he said she said I'd be able to snag something I can serve up for dinner. Or put

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-33413375715244273982008-06-06T13:30:00.000-07:002008-06-06T13:32:52.184-07:00

Based on my last blog, you might be wondering: is she just a teensy bit bitter or something?Um, I’ll get back to you on that. But first, let me flip a u-turn and show you what lies on the other side of cynicism.Sometimes I think we are in the Golden Age of love. We’ve had a handful of social revolutions, and now slowly but surely we’re moving past the notion that there are those whom we are not

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-48923329642905548582008-06-06T13:26:00.000-07:002008-06-06T13:30:16.549-07:00

“Love lifts us up where we belong, love is a many splendid thing, love is all you need.”Discuss.I attempted to start a cryptic new blog under the pseudonym of Eros, Aphrodite, Agape, or something equally cliche. Just call me Dr. Drew and dial up my love line. Lonely hearts, broken hearts, wild hearts, even cold, sterile, impotent hearts are welcome to punch in my digits for a dose of amor.There’s

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-39170189171553306422008-05-08T10:52:00.000-07:002008-06-07T01:53:01.399-07:00

Here's one thing I really don't understand. Call me culturally insensitive, but Turkish men have a severe staring problem. I bear witness to this problem in a plethora of situations from swanky restaurants to seedy street corners. Although I would like to attribute it to my smashing good looks and supermodel body(clarification: sardonic humor, not narcissism) I am quite certain my physical

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-92232698863069263732008-05-07T00:26:00.000-07:002008-05-07T00:32:13.433-07:00

In fourth grade each member of my class had a hermit crab. Mine and only mine managed to climb to the top of the Popsicle stick that had my name on it. Still in its shell, it traveled as far as it could possibly go. Is this an allegorical reference? Perhaps. I gotta tell ya. This (the way I function day in and day out in everyday life) is not my normal modus operandus. Deep down I am still the

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-63228606168659243902008-05-06T06:14:00.000-07:002008-05-06T06:15:50.490-07:00

I’m not quite sure what to make of any of it anymore. Hillary and Obama’s faces are morphed on the cover of Time, a la Michael Jackson’s Black or White music video. Caitlin visited me and nearly got tear gassed on May Day. The day invokes fists in the air and si se puede and MELT (Marx, Engels, Lenin and Trotsky – but I can’t take credit for the sassy acronym) and something profound about our

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-81648386621793200382008-04-23T14:53:00.000-07:002008-04-23T15:22:47.687-07:00

Here are some things I have read, heard, or seen recently. My body is not a machine, but a city of a billion inhabitants.Rocks are at the bottom of the Great Chain of Being.Some people can bend spoons with their minds.On Children's Day in Turkey, all the flags come out. Thus, mine is the only balcony not dressed in red. Mine wears pink flowers instead.They do not sell Matzah at Macro (favorite

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-15084388300498403912008-04-12T09:37:00.000-07:002008-04-12T12:05:40.357-07:00

I did something I have never done in Istanbul.Something I could've never expected or anticipated. Drum roll, please.Transcendental Meditation. !Allow me to digress into a moment melodramatic nostalgia, if you will. In LA, spiritual practice and self-actualization practically comes knocking on your door. Despite LA's initial impression of a supercial fame whore, she (the city) has a a very strong

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-89217301268394579482008-03-16T16:44:00.000-07:002008-03-16T16:45:53.234-07:00

Pardon me in advance. I must begin with a flowery extended metaphor.If you have ever dared to move beyond the black and white squares of the circumstances of your birth on the grand chessboard that is life, you have experienced the joy of anticipating an idealized otherworld and the letdown when the fantasy becomes reality. What looked like the pinnacle is merely a plateau, and climbing higher,

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-56823568922488748922008-03-15T00:04:00.000-07:002008-03-15T00:10:49.352-07:00

Why must I continue to wax on about my cultural experience? Seven months in and that new car smell is gone. The thrill of novelty is waning. I have more “normal” days and fewer substantially different or what I’d consider quintessentially Turkish days. Besides, what makes an average day of living – riding the bus, going to work, eating breakfast at the organic market, nearly getting run over by a

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-67079835319983345852008-02-17T09:34:00.000-08:002008-02-17T11:23:10.515-08:00

I've often sacrified warmth for the sake of fashion, but I found out the hard way that fingerless gloves are not worth the frostbite. My big booted snowprints were followed by a pack of pawprints belonging to naieve kanines who thought I looked kind enough to give shelter to stray dogs. They found out the hard way I am not as kind as I look. You'd think the iditarod stretched between the taxi and

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-56495658215367068212008-02-09T23:46:00.000-08:002008-02-09T23:54:23.608-08:00

Place: Doha, QatarSignage: Arabic and EnglishPurpose: Passing throughBirkenstocked hippies and Arabs in dishdashahs and shumaggs and British boys in board shorts and women adjusting their headscarves, saris, jeans, children’s diapers in the bathroom and a wife in a burka and does she wonder why her husband can wear jeans and a tee-shirt? East or West? White or brown? Bible or qur’an? Fate, free

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-34524609988989298072008-01-21T12:18:00.000-08:002008-01-21T12:24:05.221-08:00

Vienna was bulging at its refined and delicately sewn seams with the stuff quintessential European cities are made of. So much so that down many a winding arcade, I felt like I’d walked onto the set of a period piece for a remake of one of Jane Austin’s novels (yes, I know they did not take place in Vienna). Compared to my narrow and cramped Istanbul (which, on rainy days, feels like all 17

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-60397525174675735292008-01-13T11:43:00.000-08:002008-01-13T11:48:39.231-08:00

Everyone seems to have a Turkish bath story. I have been to the hamam twice thus far; the first time in a hotel and the second as part of the Temal hot springs experience. The hamam makes me feel like I should be reverent, as if I am to experience a baptism of sorts. Yet while thinking about getting my entirely exposed body scrubbed to a pulp, I am anything but. This time, my friends and I have

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-25636368418940328832008-01-13T11:35:00.000-08:002008-01-13T11:43:08.483-08:00

New Years does’t phase me. You can keep your champagne flutes and sparkily silver hats. I feel no need to engage in debauchery as one last hurrah before I go cold turkey on whatever vices delude myself into thinking I will give up on New Year’s Day. I am perpetually crossing lines I have made for myself, constantly repenting, and then drawing the lines closer, tighter, firmer. Do: read more, eat

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-45200368882069904922007-12-28T12:58:00.000-08:002008-01-05T13:13:08.904-08:00

I went to Cyprus. As a tourist with an American passport, of course. I booked my trip through a travel agency. An all-inclusive package with cab rides to and from the airport. All that was left up to me was the in-between. I flew into The Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, recognized only by Turkey, and, by default, a place that does not exist in the eyes of the rest of the world. I had no

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-5884710386331805482007-12-19T10:50:00.000-08:002007-12-19T10:57:55.274-08:00

It finally feels like winter here. Yesterday the air smelled deceptively of snow, but it turned out the heavens were only brewing cold air and freezing rain. Unless it is the bone chilling cold of the winters I grew up in, I refuse to believe I need a hat and gloves. In my mind Istanbul is still the sweltering city I came to over four months ago now. This is a new side of the city; the hard

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-46955191915167086332007-12-07T04:42:00.000-08:002007-12-07T05:27:45.412-08:00

For the record: I am not a fan of airing ones dirty launry in public. Nor do I find value in blogs that document every hangnail and heartache as though worthy of front page news. I know, I know, its the facebook phenonmena, but there is something to be said for keeping some things to yourself. See what I mean? Now you're wondering what they are.... So lets just not call this dirty laundry....I

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-83462038005640237012007-11-26T08:47:00.000-08:002007-11-26T09:02:51.604-08:00

A woman fainted on the bus today. She was standing a few bodies away from me, holding onto the rail with a glazed expression in her eyes, as was I.But that’s beside the point. I wanted to write about a quintessential Istanbul day: I ventured out on my own and bought some reeds for my friend’s Zurna (a Turkish musical instrument). On the way back I finally discovered where the famed freshly

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-5308175111023428642007-11-16T03:13:00.000-08:002007-11-16T03:53:46.410-08:00

This weekend I did something I thought I’d never do. Never in my wildest imagination did I contemplate something so delectable, so savory, so satisfying.I baked bread. Ha.Well, I had help of course. It started when my department head suggested that teachers (meaning the single females) come over for a day of bread baking. Although the idea seemed quite random, I was up for a challenge. The

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-29342222129557906442007-10-25T01:37:00.000-07:002007-10-25T01:42:15.545-07:00

I have absolutely nothing to say.At least that’s what I thought before I started writing. Today I read TimeOut Istanbul for the first time since I arrived. I was struck by how incongruous my lived experience here is from the glossy magazine version – or the hefty travel guides I brought with me. Not to say that I haven’t been to my fair share of trendy tourist spots that label themselves as

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-447322931198935982007-10-16T05:06:00.000-07:002007-10-16T05:18:29.819-07:00

Never before have I been in a predominately Muslim country during Ramazan (aka Ramadan). The difference is palpable, yet the various rituals specific to the month of Ramazan have only affected me peripherally: At rush hour, traffic goes from mass chaos to total insanity, making it difficult to catch a bus and nearly impossible to find one that isn’t stuffed to capacity. I am able to buy fresh

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-1670425885567431392007-10-11T02:05:00.000-07:002007-10-11T02:11:19.634-07:00

In my Alizah Travels the World and Lives a Glamorous Life fantasies, I am able to speak the language of the land that I’ve simply picked up while dining at the bistro or chatting it up at the taverna. It’s like I’m on that show Heroes, but instead of healing or extracting traumatic memories, I can simply understand everyone. Plus I am as cool and mysterious as Carmen San Diego. Perhaps I have an

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-65561264015872180752007-09-23T00:37:00.000-07:002008-09-09T05:31:20.989-07:00

It could be Rush Street in Chicago or slices of the Sunset Strip in Los Angeles. For my Australian friend, it’s the section of Melbourne where people go to see and be seen. I’ve heard it called the Monaco of Istanbul and the land of the bourgeois bohemians. It is Bebek, a small waterfront secetion of İstanbul that has become an "it" spot for anyone who is somebody. It projects the same

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-21819227458049240572007-09-12T07:04:00.000-07:002007-09-12T07:06:10.967-07:00

I took my first Turkish holiday this weekend in Cappadocia, an ancient land situated in the center of the country. I booked the trip through my school, and therefore I just assumed everything was going to work out. By this point, my hardcore group of precocious new teachers had dwindled from five to two. We had few options, a tight budget, and we really wanted to get sushi at the mall where the

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-57770038148186606252007-09-06T17:00:00.000-07:002007-09-06T17:04:10.139-07:00

The way you know you belong to a culture is if you understand its tacit codes. You know what I mean. Social cues, innuendo, unspoken rules, implicit understanding, subtle differences in the intonation of your voice or the rhythm of your gait. Whether communication depends on getting close enough to the person you’re speaking with to smell their breath, or whether that thought disgusts you.

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-62998411815123686042007-08-28T03:21:00.000-07:002007-08-28T03:27:00.423-07:00

Today was a testament to my good karma. Just when I thought I’d go stir crazy, I got a call from another teacher inviting me to explore the city. I was initially suspicious of such a generous offer, but I soon discovered that she simply belonged to a rare breed of people called “elementary school teachers.” With tattoos up and down her forearms a heavy dose of blue eyeshadow and a long blond pony

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-23691387122693500542007-08-23T05:52:00.000-07:002007-08-28T03:19:17.478-07:00

“We’re loosing our culture, really. All of us.”I didn’t say that. It was the French woman sitting across from me. I didn’t say anything because I was listening to Madonna in my head. “…I’ve heard it all before, heard it all before, heard it all before…”The English department head invited the new teachers to her flat for dinner. I met another newbie at the bus stop and managed to find my way to

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8795725966516960921.post-4599300839972264432007-08-21T11:38:00.000-07:002007-08-28T03:09:45.025-07:00

I wish I could say I felt something other than ready. Anxious, emotional, or simply excited would be infinitely more poetic ways to begin a trip to İstanbul. But I was none of these, and to say I was anything other than primed to go (and slightly paranoid about loosing my passport) would be romanticizing something very real. There is nothing very romantic about eating my last American supper in

Alizahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11059886247124055841noreply@blogger.com1