The Autonomous Republic of Adjara

As I walked past her in Batumi, one woman carrying a shopping bag stopped in front of me and gazed at my tourist map, and then my eyes. The hopeful and excited look on her face said, "THEY'RE HERE!"

This seemed to be the trend during my time in Batumi, a Black Sea-side resort town in the Autonomous Republic of Adjara, the Republic bordering Turkey that is officially part of Georgia. Batumi and Kobuleti, two tourist destination cities on the coast, have been eagerly awaiting tourists from the West for many years, but it really hasn't been until this year that it had any attraction that would bring Western tourists en masse. While investments are rolling in and construction is 24/7, the signs of what Batumi once was are everywhere. The delay in development was not helped in that it was governed by an authoritarian dictator for many years who treated Adjara as his own country--not part of Georgia. It also did not help that for many years before that it was barricaded from the Western world by the Red Wall that was the Soviet Union.

By the looks of Batumi today, you would not guess that even 5 years ago, electricity was rationed off to only a few hours a day and most homes around the city still had straw roofs. Yet, as I was boarding the Mashrutka (minibus) to return to my 8 hour overnight sleeper train (for a trip that would take 3 hours anywhere else) back to Tbilisi, an old Russian man explained all of this to Misha and myself. Batumi had come a long way, and I'll tell you why.

For the longest time, Adjara, like Georgia, had been under Soviet Control. When the fall of the wall came around, a new fellow, Aslan Abashidze, came to power. Because of Georgia's general lack of a strong and cohesive government, and its desire to appease its separatist provinces so long as they stay part of Georgia, Abashidze could rule Adjara as if it were his own country. He collected taxes on the border with Turkey, had a standing militia, and was essentially distinct from Georgia. Naturally Abashidze was not the best ruler (later, he was charged with embezzling over 98 million lari and murdering a civil servant). When the Rose Revolution happened in Georgia, deposing long time leader Shevardnadze and putting in Sakashvili, it wasn't long before the new leader tried to get Adjara under control. Sakashvili eventually got Abashidze to flee to Moscow. While military tensions were high, not a single shot was fired.

So finally, this beach town long a favorite of Soviet tourists could open itself up to the world. The lonely Sheraton there had long been a symbol of the potential for tourism, but it wasn't until this very year for anything substantial to be built, including a new chic Radisson and a Kempinski hotel. Boardwalks, restaurants, attractions, and renovations that make the city look like a tropical, Parisian, St. Petersburg-ian paradise, juxtaposed against the relative poverty surrounding such new buildings make Batumi a very apt location to study budding development in a post-Soviet zone.

Last year when Misha went, most buildings were either mossy unfinished skeletons of a time when development was more prominent and promising.

Today, development is a reality and the skeletons will not be skeletons for long. While most tourists come from Turkey, Iran, Armenia, and Azerbaijan still, there is a slow trickle of French, German, British, and Americans backpacking in.

During the day, an old woman stopped Misha and I--not wanting to give us a homestay surprisingly; she just wanted to know where we were from and it we were enjoying Batumi. When I said I was an American, she blessed me and "spat" on me in that my Big Fat Greek Wedding kind of way. I was welcome in Batumi.

8 Proud Hours in Warsaw

When I think of Warsaw, I think of something like this (Photos are my own):

After getting off of a rickety Polish airlines flight (LOT)-- (they lost my baggage even before I got on the plane, and just told me so), my suspicions were confirmed: Catholic, elements of post-Soviet architecture and broad avenues, European in the center. Sure, I stereotype.

What I did NOT expect, right as I was visiting one of the last synagogues in Warsaw, was a lot of loud, a lot of rainbows, and a lot of pride in this thriving "young" country.

The Spaniards gone wild. (Reminds me of my first pride in 2006, Madrid)

Whatever you are, you can be proud. (The rest of the sign reads, "Proud by choice")

SRSLY

This one is for a special friend. Notice the flag.

Warsaw was hopping with pride. Announcers, men "dressed" as priests, drag queens, lesbians, gays, straights, purples. We all marched together with the support of the police (who were thanked, by the little Polish I could understand). We marched together to the armory (I think?) towards Old Town where dancing, chanting, laughter, and love ensued. Balloon (wo)man, my favorite.

Of course, Poland is a traditionally ethnic country, and at the fringes of every Pride, there is always some not so proud people, held back by police (don't let this picture fool you, those police are just getting off duty).

Anti-Gay posters.

One man was even sprinkling holy water on the crowd.

As I was being shoved around by lenses much larger than mine, I decided to get some lunch before I starved to death from lack of food for almost 12 hours (or edible food). In the process of getting some perogies (sp?) I stumbled upon a movie set, WWII something:

Lord knows today, I was both in front and behind a lot of pictures...

For a country that went from communist to European Union capitalist (and the president of the EU is polish this year) in only a span of about 15 years, I am really impressed at how far they have come and the amazing direction they are going. I AM PROUD!

Shekeled and Euroed: A Girl's Guide to coming back from the East

"Modern world don't ask why

cause modern world, build things high

now they house canyons filled with life.

Modern World I'm not pleased to meet you

You just bring me down." --Wolf Parade's "Modern World"

Back in Amurrrrrica from my 2 week hiatus in the Middle East, namely Israel and Jordan, after my brief jaunts in Athens and Belgrade coming from Prishtina. Granted, even though I was sick with a whooping cough, I had an urge to sing "Proud to be an American" when I touched down in New York (same urge I had in Macedonia using the most putrid bathrooms ever smelled 10 meters away). I had a surge of a sort of love and respect for the efficiency, organization, accountability, and other little (and big things) I had missed about this complicated, admirable, and terrifyingly powerful country. I had intended to write about "borders" (something most Americans don't encounter... ever) but something is a little more pressing.

My bank account.

Okay, not really. But coming back from the land of 4 shekel dozens of rugelah (Jewish chocolate pastry), .50 Euro lattes, and cheap 2 hour cab rides that seem expensive at the time, but end up being only $20. I was couch surfing and spending money really only on transportation and the occasional goodie, relying on the kindness of strangers to lend a car ride, a couch, or some chicken at shabbos or iftar. Oh the life of the traveler! Sounds romantic, eh?

Then I come to America. At first, I was most surprised at the lack of automatic weapons. A summer near NATO and the IDF will do that to you. The next thing I was surprised at was how efficient and accountable everything was. (Time near the Kosovo government will make you a little shell shocked coming back to America). Next, I was surprised that people generally obeyed traffic laws and did not drive next to back hoes tearing up the road with no traffic cones warning the public.

However, I am more surprised at how expensive basic living is. All that accountability and responsibility I was talking about before comes with a price. I went shopping today at Wal-Mart for some supplies. Don't judge. I don't have a Whole Foods near my house. I'm moving into a new house at school and really needed supplies like laundry detergent, dishwashing soap, toilet paper, staple foods and tooth paste. Not anything out of the ordinary.

At the check out, the boys in front of me had spent $80 on school supplies and soap for college. The Cashier, a rather plump woman who's tata's hung over the scanner, lamented the costs of underwear with the boys and how expensive it is to live. They said, "College is expensive." I said, "Tell me about it."

My turn. I scan my Tide. My non-organic dish soap. My Charmin toilet Paper. My only indulgence in all of this is a box of "Just Bunches" cereal and some Rembrandt tooth whitening mouth wash ($6.95). After all of this, and then more food and cleaning supplies, my total is $160. WTF.

The lady behind me is talking about how every time she comes to Wal-Mart she ends up spending $100. "You get your soap, your toilet paper, your tooth paste. You spend $100, get home and realize you didn't buy any food." I swipe a credit card and cringe. I can afford it and my economy size Tide is sure to last all semester, but still. That is not a pretty number.

I talk to the ladies and ask, "How do we live in America? How do people even get by if soap is $5.99 and minimum wage is $5.50/hr?" They complain about the cost of food. I say I'll become a vegetarian. Then I say I won't because its too expensive to eat fresh produce when a burrito is only $6.00 and I will spend that much on 6 apples at Gourmet Heaven in New Haven.

New Haven recently lost its sole supermarket, Shaw's, this past year. It leaves a student/poor food stamp neighborhood with no alternative other than a food co-op, minimarts, and an incredibly overpriced gourmet food store. Those ladies think Wal-mart is expensive, try shopping in a town without a supermarket, where a carton of milk will put you back $5.

I am just struck at how expensive basic living is in America (and Switzerland, where a small latte at the airport put me back about $6.50). I sometimes think, "How can we consume more when its so much more expensive??" And then I remember, "CREDIT." On my student side, I surely don't use that much toilet paper and a meager amount of laundry detergent (and I rarely do laundry...). I think I live pretty simply and do without a 32 oz. $7 Seventh Generation Laundry detergent (Tide is $6 for 50 oz.). I don't bother with dryer sheets and don't get caught up in gimic buys. Mostly because I drink coffee religiously and have a special budget for that....

In the mean time, I will reminisce about my .50 Euro lattes as I go back to paying $3.00 a latte and drinking about 3 of them a day because I am a sleepless ambitious college student, wanting to make it in this world. Doesn't that sound like a funny coincidence?

Good thing I bought a coffee maker.

Wien-ing in exhaustion, but loving every minute.

Have not slept in nearly 28 hours, will be brief.

LOVE Vienna. Mostly because of the people. Major props to Cathrin for picking me up at the McDonalds and taking me to a hostel to drop my pack.

Things done and impressions made:

-St. Petersburg looks like Vienna. Or Vienna looks like St. Petersburg. One of the two.

-Smoking.

-Met another American girl (should say woman), Hillary. Turned out to be from Colorado, but she has been abroad for about 8 years teaching English and Yoga (from France, to Nepal, to Dubai, to Vienna... hoping to settle in France). Guess who is doing Bikram Yoga in the morning... in Vienna. Moi. Score. Hopefully I will sleep.

-There is donor and kebab everywhere. Its like a flirting fascination with their former Ottoman borders never left them. Serbs running in the streets after beating Germany. The wild wild east is at the doorstep here and it is felt with every step.

-Everyone obeys the rules. I felt bad for jaywalking. The subway system is an honors system. No turnstall, you just swipe and walk through a gate with no door. Everything is timed perfectly like a Swiss (or Austrian) watch.

-Mozart tried picking me up on the street. Or rather MozartS. They all wanted to take me to a concert at this grand hall, a la Mozart, period dress and all. Though one did try to invite me to an Irish pub. I didn't think Mozart liked the Irish.

-Met some other girls from vancouver who just graduated college. They had been to Bosnia and told me not to worry. And they are blond and beautiful. (Look mom! I'm alive!)

-I saw the human rights project exhibition put up by Lukas Maximillian Hueller, the same guy I wrote my Paul Bloom 7 Deadly Sins thesis on. I feel like emailing Lukas and telling him I'm in his neighborhood.

My thoughts are about disjointed as my physicality. You try carrying 14 kilos and feeling normal! Good night (or good nap). I'm wide awake now but exhausted. ? Question Mark ?

In Finland. Where Everyone is Blonde.

Finally. Out of the abyss I call February, where no one sees the light of day and no one smiles. Despite Valentine's Day or the fact that it is the shortest month of the year, still---no consolation. February Sucks.

But. Back to my calling. The open sky. The open road. The open world. (Or at least when you have your Russian visa). However, je divague.

Preface: I'm going to Russia with Misha, Evin, and.... Alex. If he was here. He didn't get his visa in time and is stuck in New York. I am on Spring Break and finally free... for two weeks.

I'm in Finland on my 3-4 hour layover. If there ever was a perfect place, an Aryan utopia, this might be it. The airport is spotless. The architecture has sharp and beautiful angles. The couches are either dirty white, off white, or beige (as Evin insists). The landscape is flat, though picturesque. This big building is near empty. (Helsinki only has half a million people). There is no music playing. No loudspeaker. There is stoic silence that adds to the chic nature of the women walking around with thick black sunglasses, Longchamp bags, and delicate Finnish speech. There is an accuracy in every angle and the color scheme could not be more spot on.

If people think Scandinavia is the ideal, I can see why. Everyone is just beautiful, well dressed, and has a sense of color in their design and clothing.

Even the off white (beige?!?) couches match the landscape.

Excuse me while I got pour perfume on myself at a duty free shop. I need to shower.

I'm sittin at an Airplane Stations, got a ticket for my destination... mmmm mmmm

Yea, I went there. Go Simon and Garfunkel. Its the truth though. I'm sitting at the Istanbul International Airport after spending a decent amount of time at a D & R Bookstore, a Starbucks, and watching Turkish Customs Officials Drag a shouting man away. Oh Turkey. 

Right now, there is an ad for Reina on the screen (the Night Club I went to on my 19th birthday--thank you Murat). There was a soundtrack for the club at the bookstore. I have about ten YTL in my wallet that I want to spend. I see simit looking croissants in the Starbucks case. Fake blonde dye jobs are everywhere. People are carrying expensive duty free items around, especially the Saudi Tourists ( who probably stayed at my hotel last night, where there were thongs, condoms, and boxers in the Mini Bar to buy--chilling.)

I am sleepy after days without sleep, thanks to my father's snoring in our cave hotel in Cappadocia and our Airport hotel. Last night I ordered a Sutlac out of nostalgia and sleeplessness. It was bad--the sleeplessness and the sutlac.

I could talk about my summer and reflect about my successes, my challenges, my moments.... but the summer isn't done. I still have reports. I still have budgets to complete. I still have meetings in New York that were set up in Istanbul. I choose to remain silent for now. 

I'm surprisingly quiet in the mind. When I do think, I think only of how much I do not want to leave... but not obsessively. It is a quiet longing. I read the newspaper. I read my Turkish Authors I picked up. I listen to Manu Chao as I watch the Turkish Starbucks man take away some plates and mop the leak from the ceiling. 

I have to go and catch my flight to London. 

"All those tours and one night stands, got a suitcase and guitar in hand, and every stop is neatly planned for a poet and a one man band." 

Homeward Bound I guess? (Well, not for another 5 days). Simon and Garfunkel took the words right out of my mouth. 

Turkish Tea and Patience

Tonight at dinner in Cappadocia, my father burnt his tongue on a hot cup of Turkish Cay (pronounced Chai) and proceeded to add cold water to the tiny glass, perhaps out of the frustration of having a sore tongue and the desire to conquer that which was trying to make him wait (waiting is a sin in America land you know). It reminded me of the land which I was away from for some 3 months now and what I will face when I go back to it on Saturday.

The little cups of cay that I have encountered in Turkey have taught me a patience that I don't think I had back in the states. Ask my younger sister--part of my daily routine was burning my tongue on my black coffee and then spilling it on a black shirt (planning ahead you know). I could never wait for something to cool off. I wanted the rich satisfaction of the bitter blackness on my tongue, even if it meant pain. I had to wake up. I had to go to school. I had to do it and I had to do it NOW.

Something has changed here. After burning my tongue on a cup of cay that was not meant to wake me up, that was meant for me to enjoy (out of hospitality, during conversation, after dinner), I realized---why the hurry? Why can I not have the temperance to simply wait and sip my cay, making the small cup last infinitely longer than a large black coffee from Tazza D'Oro? Something about drinking from that little cup made me enjoy stirring the sugar cube just a little longer, waiting in between sips, taking my time, letting the tea cool. The purpose of the tea was not to slug it down. The purpose of the tea was for the time it passed. It taught me patience and temperance--skills to be had that I never thought could be learned from a cup of tea.

Now that I am going back to the land of the 2 minute cheese burger and the 99 cent chicken nugget, where large coffees can be downed in a minute and people get antsy if they have to wait more than 1 minute for their computers to load, I imagine I will go back to burning my tongue on my large Mexican Peaberry in the morning. However, when I sit down at the end of the day with my cup of tea and begin the night of studying, I think I'll have that patience I have been praying to learn.

I guess I'll have to wait and see what happens.

Playing Tour Guide and Being a Daughter: The Many Sides of Danielle

I harbor within me a not-so-secret love for giving tours. Showing people around and bragging about the history, culture, and food of a place while someone pays me sounds great... kind of legitimizes what I like to do in my spare time anyway. 

So when my parents said they wanted to come to Turkey to visit my sister and me, I jumped on the chance of--for the first time ever--being a tour guide to my parents as well. Yet I was not only going to play guide, but live out the role of daughter again.

Saturday, my sister joined me in Istanbul with her host family from Ankara. We toured the Galata Tower--near where my favorite hotel and part of Istanbul is (end of Tunel, in the little Bohemian Art District, where street artists and graffiti rule). Finally, after Gabbi and I had our moments of smug mutual understanding at many a comment around us, we found our parents joking with a cab driver. Oh Dad. We were a family again. 

It was bizarre. It had been the first time we were together in months. It was glorious. We only had good times and good adventures to talk about. After saying goodbye to Gabbi's other family, we stole her for a night to go to a meyhane on the roof of a building for delicious mezze, raki, and tavuk sis (like tapas, uzo, and chicken kebab). My sister and I two-timed Turkish culture with our parents, explaining our various (and widely different) experiences with them. We had so much to talk about and conversation never ended. The night was epic, as was the view. 

The next day, I played guide--with transport, food, and sights, like the Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace etc. We later had dinner with her host family and then said a painful goodbye as she went back to Ankara. 

So we were a family again for that night and day. After two months of playing employee, project manager, student, intern, co-chair, "Mama D," single lady, or yabanci "foreigner" (sorry if I misspelled!), I was a daughter and a guide. 

The next day we went to the prince islands, hired a carriage, and climbed to the top to an orthodox monastery. Later, going to Kadikoy to pick up my phone and still later, a glorious dinner on the Bosphorus at a Turkish/Asian fusion restaurant. I loved the feeling of sharing my favorite spots with my parents. Finally, I could share the love I have for this place with someone. I was guide, but more than that, I was a daughter who could finally share one of her adventures with someone. Solitude is nice, but at the end of the day, it is better when you've told someone what you did in solitude. 

Then we saw a couple at the food bar near us (very soulful little place with the best view of the first bridge!). They were covered up in blankets and eating and drinking. They looked like they had known each other for ages. My father made jokes at them for being gushy and they laughed. Of course dad bought them a drink (after an arduous task of translation...). By the end of our meal, we had another round with them. He was a "digested man" who liked "quality, not quantity" in women. He was a worldly fellow, proud of his achievements and very in love with his fiancee--in the most Turkish way possible. He worked in management of different hotels, clubs, and restaurants around the world and was quite charismatic. Quite a well connected man too. His fiancee, a financial analyst darling and calm--what a man like that needs. In short, they were love. And they only knew each other for a month. We are going to the wedding in May, btw. ;) 

You know me. I don't get mushy. I don't like too much direct sentimentality (even if I post it here... I may not say it with much heart anywhere else). But I liked it. I was sitting on the Bosporus with my parents, having a drink and the meal of my life, with a real couple sitting near. Something gave me hope and faith in the past, present, and future. It gave me hope of the many hats I can put on, and not just put on, but WEAR with a sense of ownership. What hat I will wear in 10 years is scary to think of, but to know that I'm not just acting this--that this is my life.... that is refreshing. 

So a sister guiding her sister from Ankara, in Istanbul, with her parents visiting from the US, after being in 5 different country in 2 months, chilling on the Bosporus, guiding them around the city, and experiencing all of that... coming together. Every memory of my time here and with them flooded in. Its the new face of the new sort of global families that are developing (a special story on this later). 

I like guiding people through my life I guess. Call it vain. Yet, why else do people keep blogs like this? wink wink. 

Adventure into Kurd Land: An Account in Photos

I had one of the most amazing weekends of my life. 

Yes, ladies and gents. I ventured into what I will call "Kurd land" --South East Anatolia. Yes, this is the same ethnic group in Northern Iraq that is fighting (sometimes very violently) for autonomy. I took my trusted co-worker Edgar, and two yalie friends, Lynda and Pawel on this journey. 

My itinerary is as follows: 

Friday: Fly to Urfa. Spend time there. Midnight drive North to Nemrut Dagi for Sunrise. 

Saturday: Nemrut at Sunrise, travel south to Urfa. Travel to Mardin via Diyarbakir (known as the "capital" of the Kurds) 

Sunday: Mardin then Hasankeyf. Spend the night with "Doga" or "Nature" NGO

Monday: Hasankeyf, Batman, and Diyarbakir before flying back to Istanbul 

Because the experience is more personal and definitely in my journal, I will show some select pictures to you to explain some salient points. 

URFA: Pictured above you see part of Urfa, one of the most religious cities in Turkey. My friends, I spent most of my day veiled. The call to prayer here is mystifying and powerful, as it should be for the birthplace of the prophet Abraham. Pictured here is the cave where he was born. Urfa had a unique effect on me: It was a farmer's town but also a salvage town of flea markets. Everyone had a moustache. It smelled like my bubby's house. In some odd way, I felt like I was revisiting my childhood and reinvestigating where I came from, on so many levels. 

NEMRUT DAGI: Built in 62 BC, these statues of Greek, Persian, and Armenian Gods watch the sunrise everyday. I wanted to as well. So after calling up a travel company, we soon found ourselves driving through Kurdish countryside for 5 hours on back roads at midnight. Our driver, Yousef, was just about the craziest and most popular guy in the industry (which is tiny...not many international tourists come here). He had limericks and rhymes and nicknames for each of us. I was "Princess Diana Danielle Topatin." Apparently we were going to Mexico with him... Anyways. Nemrut Dagi to me was the most... well. I am lost for words. There are somethings that cannot and should not be described. I refused to take pictures of the sunrise itself (a sort of primordial soup that looked like the earth and sky were one, with a scar of red bleeding through the center), but found more interest in the awe of man. What is truly amazing is our reverence for nature. The fact that I climbed a mountain at 3 AM in FREEZING cold weather to see this is one thing. The sunrise itself is inexplicable. However, the fact that someone wanted to build a tomb or a monument up there in respect for nature--now that is inspiring. 

Yousef also took us on more excursions to see Greek, Roman, Persian, Seljuk, and Ottoman ruins. Here I'm just climbing on a rock. Yes, that is a steep drop..... The little bugger, for 60+ years old was spry. Being that we were in bible land, he also took us to swim in the Euphrates. I discovered a love for apricots with him. 

We got to Mardin, eventually (the bussing there... checkpoints because of Kurd/Turkish tension, kinda scary). It is a beautiful city on a hill. Perfect defense strategy because you could see so far into the distance, it looked like the earth and the sky were one. However, I can't say the same about the place we stayed. the walls were falling into the mountain side and the shower did not work. That said, I had a goodnight sleep there. We had an excellent dinner at a restaurant actually owned by a woman--the first I have seen outside of Istanbul. Normally men do the cooking. These pictures don't do the city justice. Look it up online. It is such an amazing city....

Next to Hasankeyf. My friends at TOG hooked me up with an NGO there called "Doga" or "Nature." They are trying to save Hasankeyf from the flooding the dam building will cause. Luckily, it stopped this past Wednesday! Hasankeyf it basically a city of caves along water. One of the most beautiful and untouched sites I have ever seen. The city only has one motel, but we stayed in the "Nature house" instead. Hence the inflatable couch you see--where I slept instead of the bed: I like couches more. It was a concrete building with plastic table clothes on the roof, but it was so quaint. Hasankeyf is only like 2,000 people and many have parents who used to live in the cave. The city dates back before Christ and has an amazing castle on a cliff--where I am standing, overlooking an old bridge. The river is the Tigris. So YES, I swam in BOTH the Tigris and Euphrates river. We joked that if we were carried away by the current, call Baghdad and warn them we will be there soon... Hasankeyf taught me about temperance, about living a life of happiness, simplicity, good fruit, and doing things when they need to be done. Live a good healthy life for your body--and don't be afraid to have a cigarette at 2 AM to get the mosquitos away..... 

The next day we had breakfast in a cave and set out for Batman to go to Diyarbakir. We eventually get to Diyarbakir and tour the old Ulu Camii in the 43 degree celsius heat, or 109 degrees F. IT WAS HOT. We are eventually won over by an English/Spanish/turkish/Kurdish speaker outside of the mosque. I knew he was selling carpets. He took us in for chai a street over. Soon I was haggling for carpets. The one guy, Hasan, pictured above worked for ABC and NBC as a Kurdish translator. He showed me business cards of the men he worked with and how he does an international rug trade. Kurdish rugs are quite a different game. Apparently business has soured with recent conflict, but he loves the adventure it provides. We became great friends and I basically stole the rug I liked from him: a medium size on for my dorm room, half carpet, half kilim, made by nomad around 50 years ago. This place had OLD rugs... Not a SINGLE tourist in site. Who goes to the capital of the Kurds for vacation? Not even the Turks....  We also went to an Assyrian Church (not Orthodox under Batholomew) of like 30 people. The church was built in the 1100s and the people still worship there speak Aramaic... AMAZING. 

So all in all this was an adventure. THERE IS SO MUCH MORE TO TELL YOU I HAVE ONLY SCRATCHED THE 1%. I will stop though and you just have to ask me questions..... So many coincidences, so many experiences. So many thoughts. I loved this area. I feel in culture shock now.

BTW: MY RASH IS FROM MY DETERGENT! Yay for figuring that one out.... 

Rights and Raki: Thoughts on Youth Work and Youth

Until you are working intimately in programming sponsored by the EU, you cannot grasp the money that flows into the efforts to fashion multicultural, European, "different but equal" youth. The mission: create a unified, culturally rich Europe. The implementation: Trainings, conferences, social work. The process: Hmmmm

Working both on the funding/policy side and the project/implementation side in an NGO can inform you about both dynamic ends of the EU's project in multicultural Europe--by latching onto youth. However, when it comes to some of these projects, its really hit or miss. 

PEMBE EV ADVENTURE

Instead of going to the office and working on a report on European Youth Policy, Friday I went to the "Pembe Ev" or Youth House of TOG (my NGO) in order to start fashioning an international cultural summer camp for 16-23 or so year olds. (Yes, big age difference I know). Though I got lost after a metro, a funikuler, a ferry, and a bus, I eventually found myself on the Asian side at the Pink House or Pembe Ev. Once there, I was confronted by youth workers from around Europe and Turkish Youth, just hanging on an ungodly hot day. 

Planning these camps is no easy task. The goals are usually for a sense of participation (does this equate to Turkish or European participation and citizenship? Thinking about this...) and cultural exposure. Planning the games, workshops, events, and classes is harder than you would think. Keeping the attention of a 19 year old is hard. I speak from experience. There has to be some sort of net worth to the whole experience. Sometimes that means just chilling out and talking. (To be honest, I don't know the efficacy of the games and after reading papers about them and critical studies. I'm still learning.) 

Keeping goals in sight is important, but the whole process involves improvisation and keen observation... I knew this would have to be done differently...

TRANSPORT TO THE BLACK SIDE

After an afternoon there, I knew that my lovely AEGEE friends (plus Ivy EME alum Dimitrije!) were in Kilyos on the Black Sea for a conference. They invited me along that week so I decided to delay my visit to the Aegean Sea coast to go the opposite direction. I missed the Ferry, so I, with an unworking cellphone (for some reason it realized it was illegal...? i.e. Not turkish) I took a Dolmus (or minibus) to Sariyer then another to Kilyos. Problem. I was supposed to take another bus, which I later found out. To avoid further detail and to save this for a good dinner party story (much like my lost in the Sahara story), I will just say I eventually got where I needed to be. 

I entered on International Night of the participants (Armenians, Slovaks, Belgians, Turks, Serbian, American--me--and a few Dutch/German people). This means that everyone brings their own food and alcohol from their country to share. End Story. 

OPPRESSION IN THEATER OF THE OPPRESSED

Considering I was acting as an "Observer," I didn't feel much of a need to participate fully in the "Peace Leaders of the Future" conference... ahem. When I went to one of the workshops on "Theater of the Oppressed" (A. Boal's theory of using theater to examine the oppressor/oppressed dilemma), I grew even a little less engaged. When a trainer is trying to use "Theater of the Oppressed" on a group of students who don't live in such an obvious war zone of "oppressors" and "oppressed" trying to separate the "oppressors" from the "oppressed" and acting their roles is even more frustrating. Its not that simple. Please. Don't water down the issue. Okay for the 16 year olds, it was fine, but 24 year old students with Master's Degrees in European Studies? Hmmmm. 

I said, screw this "oppressor/oppressed" obviousness. I wanted to consider something maybe more close to home: That feeling of "self-oppression" about not being able to do enough in a world of problems (there are only so many UNICEF checks I can send), and therefore falling into apathy. When it came time to present, we were refused (we had a good skit too) because we didn't want to use the "oppressor/oppressed" thing. Call it invisible theater. I felt oppressed.

Afterwards, I kinda called the lady out on it and noted a good number of things.

1) The conference was originally for the Armenian/Turkish conflict, but due to scheduling and leaders dropping out prematurely, it became this: i.e. shit happens.

2) Don't have an age range between 15-24. Its patronizing. Why the EU groups youth like this is worrying. 

3) Value the fact that these kids are just together. 

4) Remember this is about non-formal learning. Not top-down. 

5) Sometimes some good old fashioned recreation is the best way to do Youth Work. I.e. netWORKing. 

RAKI, SAND, SUN: HOW YOUTH WORK IS ABOUT FUN

You know me. I am horrible at recreation. I bring my laptop to bars in Brussels to do work. I don't watch any TV. I am addicted to my gmail. My idea of fun is reading the BBC online. Let's face it. I am bad at sitting still and I'm bad at just "having fun." Something about this youth work business though that I've noticed is that there is nothing like a beach, some music, and a meal can do for inspiring conversation. I had much better conversations over my Starbucks at the end of the conference than I did during workshops. The intimacy that you gain at conferences is the impetus for continued dialogue. Simply put, my weekend simply solidified my bond with these amazing European students (TTYN!) and BAM! there is soft diplomacy for you. 

Though I didn't learn about who was the oppressor and who was the oppressed (though I deconstructed Boal's theory while I was bored during the workshop), I learned how to have a little fun. I also learned that it is okay to be 19 sometimes.  (Sometimes doing Youth Work on the policy end in an NGO for people my own age seems a little bizarre--I feel patronizing...) 

After saying goodbye to my AEGEE lovers as they flew back to Brussels, I went to have the biggest dinner ever with Murat, the Political Advisor and his friend and his wife at their apartment. OH!! BEST HOMECOOKED FOOD EVER. I learned more about fish, red grape raki, Mezze, and the art of cooking in one evening than I ever have. You just wait mom.... 

After 3 hours prep and 3 hours eating, I had the itis and I was so stuffed. Monday night now. I still am. 

Nothing does more for cultural understanding than food. :) Okay, maybe not.... but I like to think so. 

UPDATE ON HEALTH FOR MY WHITFIELD FAMILY: 

I realized that you all love to know how I am doing health wise. Normally I don't put this in my blogs for all of the world to see, but I'll let you know that I am FINALLY seeing a dermatologist tomorrow for my rash. That will be a whole different post... DANIELLE DOES TURKISH HEALTH CARE.