Sisters and Shish--Ankara Means Family

Ankara is not a beautiful place. Anyone from Istanbul will be the first to tell you that. In fact, some call it down right hot, ugly, stately, stuck up, and an inorganic city that sprang out of no where to become capital for Ataturk (hey, each empire had a different capital, Seljuks--Konya, Ottomans--Bursa/Istanbul, Atatruk--Ankara). 

That said, there was definitely something beautiful in going to Ankara for me this weekend. I.E. my sister Gabrielle. I learned a few things about what it meant to live in a family again--and how my life (i.e. me) has changed so much in the past year. 

Friday morning, I got into Ankara. Thankfully, Murat picked me up at the bus terminal. We had a serious breakfast overlooking the Bosphorus of cars on a new highway. Many old or little houses were springing up in between the ugly new apartment buildings--illegal, but then they become legal when they vote for a politician. Welcome to Ankara. 

If you thought party politics were insane in the US, look at Turkey. Military coups have erupted after party conflict (most recently in the early 80s) and even today, people go to Universities or clubs based on party lines. According to Taner--Gabbi's Turkish/Australian host father--these party lines infiltrate the schools. All coming from this all holy structure called the Turkish Grand National Assembly.

I visited the Assembly on Friday with Murat, a Political Advisor friend to one of the MPs. The building looked like something out of 1984--very stately and Ataturk was everywhere, watching. It felt much like a consuming building and the lawn care was wild and lacking (grass up to my ankles...) but that aside, I found the main assembly chamber fascinating. There was so much bustling about--and that is an understatement when it comes to Gossip. Each MP's advisor gave me the low down about lazy tea guys (yes, there are "cay" or tea kitchens--at least two on every floor) or who is dating who. I felt like I was in "The Office," Turkish edition.  I could go on and on about the state of Turkish politics, but somehow, just turn on your favorite political show--add some crazy architecture--and then add Turkish and tea et voila. 

Later, Gabbi and I met up at her Turkish American Cultural Center. Gabbi, my younger 16 year old sister (or 17 according to Turkish people- you count the first year here. So i'm... 20!!!!!!), is studying with the State Department's National Strategic Language Initiative---the thing I did in Cairo last year. She is living with a fabulous host family of 3 sisters, a mum, and a dad--plus a grandmother who went to visit family in Australia. Her host father grew up mostly in Australia, in many ways avoiding the political conflicts that plagued the country during the times he was growing up in Ankara. It was absolutely warming to hear him speak with an Aussie accent. Though the daughters (17, 14, and 7 or so) spoke mainly Turkish, when they did speak in English, it had a fabulous Aussie Accent. They also took milk in their tea--a first for any Turk I have seen here.

But aside from going around and doing some shopping for pants, shoes, and books, I got a taste of family life again. Aside from my faux pax of not taking my shoes off at the threshold of the door or not knowing how to properly kiss the great-grandmother's hand when she came over (or not know where to dispose of my feminine .... ahem), I think I got along alright with typical Turkish culture. That aside, it was the family dynamic itself that threw me off. I guess after living with a bunch of "young" people without older adults or children, I had gotten rusty with what a mixed generation household felt like. It felt warming, comforting, loving. Yet also, slower, more orderly and much more routined. I had forgotten that when I was a kid in a household, I too had duties assigned by my parents. Now, I clean or have "duties" when the duties demand (looking at some dishes right now... meh.) Her host family (and my "adopted family") had a lovely home with a small bird and the Obama Chia Pet Gabbi brought. It was clean and pristine to the max. Everything was orderly. It was a household for people who knew what was important and necessary in life. 

We are great Americans. Gabbi and I went to Ataturk's memorial on the 4th of July. I must say, seeing something like that makes me proud to be the Turk that I am not. The architecture was novel, epic, and "other" on so many planes. It had neither time nor historical reference, yet it was a monument to all of the achievements that lay buried beneath the dirt in Ankara from centuries past. We also went to dinner with Murat in an old citadel, which offered an amazing view--making jokes about food, the view, and life in general. 

People often ask me if I get lonely when I'm traveling abroad or living alone. The answer is a resounding YES. I do. Its only natural. No matter how close of friends I make, they will never know me quite as long as my sister has. Gabbi was such a refresher to me. She put my life into perspective again in a single weekend. No one but family, and particularly a sister can do that for you. I enjoyed and needed the warmth of a family, the hug from my sister, and even the concern from my "adopted" parents for a weekend. I felt incredibly at home and could not have thanked them enough for their hospitality. The sometimes smothering inclusivity of family is something that I miss at times.  Granted, as much as I liked revisiting this lifestyle, I was not terribly upset at going back to my flat. I liked seeing that my sister and I were adaptable and could continue our relationship cross countries, continents, and ages. It made me confident to know that I don't have to be lonely. 

Granted, I am happy to have close friends abroad, like Murat, who is so incredibly kind and hospitable--and an AMAZING chef I need to learn from. We had an excellent BBQ on sunday with Shish, Kofte, chicken, potato salad, beer, and raki. I was, as usual, the youngest in a near 30 crowd, but never fear. I laughed with the best of them and had an excellent time seeing another kind of Turkish house--those of retired diplomats. Their house honestly could have been a museum of global culture. Granted, some of the peanuts where probably many years old... Thanks for the warning Murat. 

So now that I am back home, thanks to some friends making sure I got on the bus, I truly miss that family feeling of homely hospitality. The hospitality Murat and Gabbi's host family showed was amazing and the love and familiarity of my sister (who though the same, is always showing new developments and knowledge--keeping life exciting!) made me recharged. After going so hard for literally... well... since JANUARY with work, planning, study, networking, and programming, this weekend really put my life into perspective and really got me to appreciate family on a level I never really have before. Its a quiet appreciation (though I vocalize it here), and sometimes makes me a little melancholy. Something tightens for something past or future. 

I'm going on and on, but I also realized that some things you cannot post on a blog. I started journaling more again (ergo fewer blog posts), realizing the importance of placing my more sincere, spontaneous, poetic, or secretive feelings on paper. 

Enough of this. Good night. I'll talk to you tomorrow about my refugee visit yesterday and my future plans for Diyarbakir and Kosovo in the upcoming weekends.