Analyze Turks

Their building is on fire, residents are in fight

I can't write a blog on Turkish people and not mention their anger issues. We are a nation of ninety million frustrated, irritated, testy, tempered, mad, bitter, touchy, raged and infuriated people, also known as "nervous" people. All Turkish  men, women, and children alike are constantly annoyed and endlessly nervous: "You are getting married to my ex-wife? Here, I will kill you!", or "Mini-skirt on a public bus? Let's beat her up!!", or " You can't smoke during Ramadan? You infidel! I will beat you up so bad, you prefer you were in Hell!!!" and so on...

Turks are nomads; having hunted and lived on horses all their lives, they frequently moved from one place to another. Since fighting was what they did best, the Ottomans sent them to the borders to defend the Empire, and banned them from settling in Istanbul for fear that they would vandalize the city. 

Fury and the beast (notice his gun)

The downfall of the Turks though starts with the Chinese (wall) and continues later with the Europeans, who categorized us as "Barbarians" without ever noticing that their kind (or any other kind) can be as barbaric as the Turks themselves. Then the Americans made a movie called "Midnight Express", further and forever tainting our reputation around the world. And finally, the Greeks -who were always in the picture- kept handing out wad of pamphlets filled up with horrifying stories on Turks, because they could NEVER forgive us for taking over Constantinople. 

Yes, we are a very unhappy, rejected, manic-depressive culture indeed. Other nations tried very hard to cure us. Arabs gave us coffee and drugs (and their religion), Japanese loved us unconditionally and Russians sent their beautiful, smart women to calm our men down... Unfortunately, none of this worked. May be because not a single one of them gave us enough time and asked what our problem is. All we wanted was one minute, just one minute to tell you what is going on...  

Never tell your patient to calm down

When you are unhappy and manage to take your anger on someone (in the form of swearing, beating, driving over, butchering or shooting), all you need is to come up with some simple excuse. And Turks are great at that! Headlines in the "third page" of major newspapers are full of such excuses for someone looking for inspiration: "It's Ramadan and I was hungry" or "I didn't like what he said about Allah" or "He was staring at me" or "They were holding hands". Or simply, " Mazeretim var, asabiyim ben (I have an excuse, I am nervous)".

I was ten years old and trying to learn how to ride my bike when I lost control and hit a little girl holding her Dad's hand. It was a very hot day in the summer and it was Ramadan. I fell down, so did the little girl. We were both fine, though; I had a few scratches and the little girl was a bit shocked but didn't even shed a tear. Her Dad though was quite annoyed; he kicked my bike and yelled "My daughter is fasting, you little idiot!". I was so confused, asking myself "Can you not hit someone when they are fasting?, did he realize I wasn't fasting?, am I supposed to pity her?". His anger was justified, but what he said and what he did just didn't make sense, and to this day, I still don't know what he meant... Mr. Barbarian Turk, I hope you are sorry.

Waiting for Godot

One of the habits I quickly (had to!) rid myself of after moving to US was being late for everything. I still have this habit, -once in a while I am late for a meeting, a date or a movie, say about five minutes... OK, may be ten minutes... Well, fifteen at most, but hey, at least I call ahead of time! Many Turks don't call when they are late -be it going to their dental appointment, leading a session in a conference or meeting for a concert-, and not by just five or ten minutes but by more than fifteen minutes and sometimes by hours.

Once I am back in Turkey, I quickly adapt to this habit. Well, I am Turkish and being late is literally in my blood. But, what I don't get is how we corrupt those from other nationalities visiting Turkey; such as the British scientist at the research conference I attended this week, who was fifteen minutes overtime for his scheduled twenty-minute presentation. How does this happen, why does this happen and why is it so contagious?

Ministry of Science taking his time for his talk

The meeting I attended was the first stem cell conference in Turkey. Overall, it was good. Not like its European or American counterparts, though quite informative for researchers in Turkey whether they realize it or not. There were many organizational redundancies and unrelated talks which I am sure will be fixed in the following years. But what is not going to happen in the next meetings -or in any meeting in Turkey- is that the sessions will ever start or end on time... Somebody will be late (like the session chair arriving thirty minutes late),  or someone will not abide by the twenty-minute presentation rule (like almost everyone attending). I have seen cases in US where buses would arrive late and people would be upset about it. Here in Turkey, it is different. People are usually happy for waiting; most probably because they themselves arrived late too, and didn't have to miss anything...

Turkish Cafes on a typical weekday

I observed myself during the past ten days I have been in Turkey. I was late for most of my meet-ups with friends and had to call ahead of time. My parents were different, they just played it by the ear: 

B: Merih? I am so sorry I will be late by an hour, there is a lot of traffic!

M: Don't worry, I didn't leave yet either. 

B: Selen, I will be there by 3pm, not 2pm, is that OK?

S: Sure, I just woke up anyhow...

B: Dad, aren't you late for your 5pm dental appointment?

D: No, he said come after 5 not AT 5. 

Breakfast with the family

First, I thought I was late because I was on vacation (getting up late, being lazy, family visits, etc). But my friends were not on vacation, neither were my parents nor the organizers at the meeting. And yet, these people were late, too. Then, I thought it was the traffic; but you could easily avoid being late by taking alternate transportation or by just leaving a little earlier. Finally, I realized what was going on: it was the amount of time I spend on "talking" while having breakfast, lunch, or dinner. On an average day, you would find most of the population sitting around a table with tea or Turkish coffee or rakı in one hand and unfinished plates in front of them... Gathered around food, Turks love to talk, gossip, debate, sing, dance and sometimes even save the world (talk politics), or as the Turks say: "Dünyayı kurtardık!".

My return flight is in the afternoon with a German airline this week and I am worried that I will be late (happened twice before). If the pilot is not Turkish, I think I am in trouble!

Nostalgic Harassment: Part II

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Bosphorus looking north

At 7:15 am, I would take the ferry across the Bosphorus from Kadıköy to Beşiktaş. The trip (still) lasts half an hour and it is very scenic. If it is a nice day, it is lovely to sit outside: get a simit (bagel) with çay (black tea) -served on the ferry-, eat half the bagel and feed the other half to seagulls that form a tail behind the ferry. Well, at least this is the fun part. The not-so-fun part is getting on-and-off the ferry... 

While getting on, a huge crowd piles at the gates, and as the gates open the pressure of the crowd forces you from behind into the water. You try to hold onto something for dear life as you get groped, touched and pushed in the butt for a thousand times. I would scoff at a random guy, make a scene, kick his butt or yell out “what the fxxk are you doing?” as I try find the steps to the ferry... Sadly, I would always be left to wonder whether there is a school for these guys, teaching them how to talk back to women they harass in public. Because every single one of them would reply with the same phrases: “Oh, you are upset?" or "I didn't touch you, mam" or simply "Heeey, woman! It wasn’t me!"

One for Kozyatağı, please?

The trip back home from school would only be a little different with the added stress of parents waiting for you at home. Back then, there were no cell phones; so, if I am a little late because I hung out with friends, to shorten the trip, I would take the Dolmuş (literally meaning stuffed) from Taksim all the way home. The dolmuş operate similar to the minibüs, only that they pick you up from a starting station and drop you off wherever you want -along a (semi) fixed-route. This is a great transportation method for crossing the Bosphorus: since all passengers are traveling to the other side, the driver finds alternative routes to avoid traffic until he crosses the bridge. The dolmuşes have 11 seats as well, but since they are only a little bigger than a taxi, they don’t have any stand-in space like the minibüses. They are also a bit more expensive and attract “better” men; hence, they are always harass-free. You wouldn’t have cramped muscles from sitting next to a guy or be pulling your skirt down to avoid the staring at your bare ankle. The only thing you have to avoid in a dolmuş is to sit in the front row, because you will be the designated money collector for people sitting in the back and be poked for this: “Can you pass one for Kozyatağı, please?”

On a lucky day, dolmuş takes only half-an-hour from Taksim to Kozyatağı. But on those unlucky days, -either the driver is not familiar with the traffic or his alternate routes are also busy-, I would come home to see my parents sitting in the balcony, watching the street with worried eyes. My heart would be throbbing with the stress of the awaiting berate: "Where were you out so late? Who were you with? What do you think you are doing? You. are. not. a. GUY!”

Nostalgic Harrassment: Part I

I am a 36-year-old female. I have a full-time job in one of the top academic institutes of the world. I live alone in a country 5000 miles away from homeland. I am strong: I can repair my house, I can paint, I can drive a truck and help a friend move his house. Pretty much, I am not your typical Turkish woman. But when I am back in Turkey, I have to behave like one. So, what is it like being a “Turkish woman” in İstanbul?

Scenic ferry ride across Bosphorus

Yesterday, I decided to take a nostalgic trip from Kozyatağı (where my parents lived since my teens) to Beşiktaş to remind myself the experience. I used to take this two-hour trip everyday to school during my college years. The trip was nostalgic; but, rather than remembering how scenic it was, all I remembered was the stress of being a nineteen-year old woman, but more importantly, just being a woman in İstanbul…

The trip would start at 6:30 am in the morning; I would take a minibus (minibüs) to Kadıköy to catch the 7:15 am ferry. That early in the morning, the minibüs would be really crowded: with 11 or less seats available, they would fill up easily and you would end up standing like canned anchovies with 15 or so others. The minibüses have a start and an end station, and along a fixed-route they pick up and drop off passengers anywhere the passenger wants, blocking the traffic to others’ dismay. By law, it is forbidden to have standing passengers; but since this is almost impossible to attain during rush hour, it would be an unmissable opportunity for the policemen to stop and fine minibüses that have standing travelers. Many times, the driver would yell us out to sit down on our knees and tuck our heads in, so the minibüs would look empty as we passed the police control. This would create a lot of funny moments, since the older, fat or more conservative women would often complain about their knees, space or inappropriate contacts.

Minibüses at their end station in Kadıköy

Body contact is a huge problem for women traveling in public transport. When standing in a minibüs, the lower end of the right-hand side windows hits below your waist. So, when the minibüs is fully-packed, your butt presses flat against the glass, making a really unattractive scene out the window. But as a woman, this is your only choice, because otherwise your butt would be flattened out by whatever is in front of a guy: his hands or his point-of-proud. I had a friend from college, Nur, who came up with the most brilliant solutions to this womanly problem. Nur used to carry a broach attached to her skirt or blouse, and she would take it out and stab its needle to the guy behind her with all her might. And when I told her that it’s too much for me and that I can’t do it, she came up with another tip with a weird satisfaction in her face: “Bikem, step on the guy’s toes with the heel of your shoe and put all your weight on that foot while you lift the other foot!” Well, I could never dare for that either, so I would always end up at the window side. With my shoulder bag stacked between the glass and me. 

To be continued...

Sex, Lies and TV Show

İffet: Saturdays at 8 pm

"We are number 1 right now!", said my friend, her eyes proud and eager, referring to the ratings of the TV series "İffet" which recently started on one of the major channels last week. My friend plays the needy and sexy fiancee of a businessman who lives in a mansion with his alcoholic brother and career-driven, unhappy, older sister with whom he shares the heirdom of a fashion business. İffet, the main girl, is a maid in this house and she is in love with Cemal, a taxi driver who loves her, too. But, for some strange reason unbeknownst to me (or to anybody), Cemal decides to rape Iffet. And so the ratings go up the roof, and so her story begins... İffet also means "Chastity" (!) and is an adaptation of a famous movie with the same name from the 80's, starring Müjde Ar and directed by Kartal Tibet. The show probably will continue for at least a year or two, and even though people know how the story ends, it will still be watched by many... Why? Because it is masochistic and sadistic, just like the rest of the Turks themselves.

Kurtlar Vadisi: Thursdays at 8pm

Yes, Turkish people love drama. We like talking drama, having drama, watching drama. We also love being part of the drama: people follow the characters' lives and discuss them with their friends and family as if they are real stories. They shop where they shop, eat what they eat, hang out where they hang out. They become mad at them, empathize or cry with them, stone or swear at them (happened to Wilma Elles playing a mean Dutch woman); they talk like them, act like them and dress like them.  In other words, people BECOME them! Kurtlar Vadisi (Valley of the Wolves), a TV series that ran for years created a lot of macho, Tony Soprano like, tough-guy-with-a-heart personalities among Turkish men. You would hear cell phone ringtones playing the theme music, women describing the main narcissistic character as their man of dreams, and children playing games on the street enacting scenes from the show. And worse, it just doesn't end there...The set where the show is shot -usually, this is a house, a mansion or a farm house- becomes a shrine where people organize tours to visit, admire, take pictures and make wishes.

Set from Öyle Bir Geçer Zaman ki: Tuesdays at 8pm

There is a TV series (dizi) in every major channel on every night, and there are re-runs of each of these dizis on the weekends as well as on the same day prior to the show. Since most of these dizis are aired during prime time, people are often torn between two or sometimes three dizis. Hence, they end up buying two TV sets and start running from one room to the other, surprisingly able to follow the plot without any confusion. I was pretty upset the other day when my mom changed the channel in the middle of my favorite show "Öyle bir Geçer Zaman ki" (How time passes by) to check on "Ömre Bedel", without a warning! I mean come on! Look, Aylin loves Soner but she is married to his crippled brother Murat who shots her while trying to shot himself because he finds out about the contract she had with his brother Soner which states she is to stay married to him only until Murat's death because he has multiple sclerosis and Murat is about to find the two of them lying in the same bed while Aylin is recovering from surgery! Who would change the channel at a scene like that?!!!??

Function of Pointless Bravery Unrevealed

Please use the rails for getting on the Ferry

SUMMARY: In a screen for mutations that modify line-making paralysis (LMP) disorder, we discovered novel genes that may explain the persistence of the line-making gene in Turkish population. In our analysis, we found that line-making (lim) is downstream of genes involved in follow-the-rules (FR) pathway, and that several genes in this pathway are either missing or mutated in Turkish population. Despite normal vision, auditory acuity and adequate ability to read and write, Turkish people are unable to form lines, tell the truth, properly wear helmet, wait in traffic or care for safety.

Do Not Turn Left

In addition, we compared the entire Turkish genome to genomes of other cultures and found that Turks have extra copies of pointless bravery (pob) gene, a gene formerly associated with Darwin award winners. We made transgenic mice that lack the lim gene and found no behavioral or anatomical abnormalities. However, when mice lacking the lim gene was introduced extra copies of the pob gene, they attacked researchers: an observation which may explain Turkey's current stand against Israel.

... Absolutely Do Not Enter

Although all Turks lack the lim gene, they vary in number of copies of the pob gene. Turks that are able to survive in Europe or in US have 2-3 copies of pob (1%) while those that are actively involved in organized crime (68%) have 15 or more copies. Rest of the population fall somewhere between these numbers and have various problems in following the rules. Since members of the Parliament have legal immunity, we were unable to determine the number of pob copies in their genome. Overall, our studies demonstrate a genetic link between lim and pob, and suggest a mechanism for development of drugs targeted to cure LMP and decrease defraud in Turkey.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: The author claims no conflict of interest and thanks her friend A.U. for providing free internet by hacking WPA2 Personal passwords of everyone in her building.

Bed Bath and Beyond

Pickles at Pazar

On Fridays, streets in my parent's neighborhood are closed for traffic from dawn till dusk. The reason for that is that it's the day of the bazaar (pazar). For every day of the week, there is a pazar in a different town, and pazar dealers travel with their merchandise -be it home products, grocery or clothing - and open their stands and tents serving the people of that neighborhood until they come back again the following week. Today, it is our neighborhood's turn.  

Mirror provided for a try-on

You can find anything in pazar and for very cheap. I rushed through the stands bumping into carriers dragged behind fat mothers, looking for my favorite Made-in-Germany tweezers: 2 liras. I then rushed to find my friend Volkan his favorite sweat-free socks: 3 for 5 liras  ("5 liras, only for you Abla!").  I found a nice fancy blouse for my mom: 20 liras and a few hairclips for myself: 1.5 liras. I then rushed to get some Adana eggplants and some fresh parsley: 6 liras. I wanted to get pots for my kitchen but he didn't have the size and the color I wanted: "Come next week, Abla!".

The fun part of pazar is watching the relationship between the vendor and the customer. Vendors come up with creative ways of selling their stuff like: "Don't be shy Abla, get a bra for yourself, make your mother-in-law jealous, your husband happy!!". Everybody knows each other; customers have been living in this neighborhood for decades and the same vendors have been putting up their tents and stands every Friday for years. And this makes everyone somehow related to each other. Depending on your age (or how hot you look), you are either a Yenge (sister-in-law), a Bacı (younger sister), Abla (older sister) or Teyze (Auntie). Men get their share too, but they are either Dayı or Amca, both meaning uncle, but Dayı somehow reflecting a younger age. I think. 

Grocery section at Pazar

You can spend hours in pazars. At age five, it was a frightening place to be, you can easily get lost in the crowd and start crying for your mom (largely because of this miserable "let's go to pazar" song trying to teach you what to eat: happuru huppuru eat chicken, happuru huppuru not eat cat). At age ten, it is the only activity you can enjoy without your mother constantly looking for you. Come fifteen, you start carrying bags behind your mom, seventeen you carry more and at twenty, you avoid coming home early on Fridays. At my age? You look for tweezers.

Food for the Soul

Mood? Choose your music.

There is a Turkish saying, "Müzik ruhun gıdasıdır", or in other words "music is food for the soul". The saying originates from the Ottomans where listening to reed flute (ney) was considered a remedy for mental problems. Personally, this expression always confused me; because if it was actually true, Turkish people would be the most joyous culture to exist. Yes, this is a culture rich in music, but the lyrics and the styles are often times reflect sorrow, anger or reproach; hence, high cholesterol, high blood pressure. 

Shop for Kanun and tef at Galip Dede Caddesi (1)

There are many forms of Turkish music, traditional and western, originating from different parts of the country accompanied by unique, local instruments. There is Ottoman Music, Arabesque, Classical Turkish Music, Turkish Folk Music (Türk Halk Müziği); there is Çingen music, Kurdish music, Black Sea Horon, Adana Çiftetelli, Aegen Zeybek, Sufi music, Meyhane Havası... You want to dance and feel motivated? Have a bit of Roman Havası. Feeling depressed because of your unattainable love? Here, this arabesque is for you. You feel unlucky, victimized, life never treated you fair? Well, we have a collection for you... Choose from this, this or this. Yes, we have many forms of music, and yes, we have one for your mood as well. Just tell us your mood and someone will play it for you.  

Black Sea Horon with kemençe on İstiklal Caddesi

If you want to experience Turkish music, all you have to do is take a walk in İstiklal Caddesi. That's what I did yesterday with my friend Merih, breathing in the Istanbul air as we walked through the rain, half-ignorant to street musicians lining up the street every ten meters or so.  The street was less louder than usual; apparently, there is a new law limiting the use of amplifiers. Nevertheless, this did not stop any musician, including a Ferdi Tayfur impostor singing to an audience of idlers. 

Mahan Esfehani, St. Antuan church

There is a music event going on in the city almost every day. Be it Ethiopian jazz, Turkish pop, Anatolian Blues or some newly emerging band on tour. It is absolutely overwhelming, and sometimes too expensive to afford... I was lucky; my friend Canan got us front-row tickets for a Bach concert. I know, Bach is not Turkish and his music certainly is not sorrowful. But hey, how many times can you listen to Bach in a neo-Gothic church setting, performed by an Iranian musician, played on an antique harpsichord? 

Note: Picture (1) is courtesy of Canan Çermen.

Anatomy of a Turkish Kitchen

Figure 1

My parents have two refrigerators (hence, two freezers). Since there are only two of them in the house (if you don't count me when I am home, visiting for vacation),  it feels like they are storing food in case for a natural catastrophe, so they have enough food for the rest of the year. Well, let me tell you... This is food for the week. 

We have two summer houses, both with gardens filled with fig, lemon, peach, apricot and plum trees (can you tell?).  My mom loves cooking, and she has this useful habit of storing edibles as marmalade, pickles, jams and juices. She also loves recycling food; the leftover soup for instance is made from lentils, potato, tomato, onion (so far so good), spinach roots, parsley stalks and two beans with molding parts cut out. I can't complain though, because it was DELICIOUS!

Well, I don't want to make the impression that this is a typical Turkish refrigerator. But, it is close...You should know that at the least, the must-have, can't-do-without, will-never-be-over ingredients found as kilos and kilos in any Turk's cooler are: tomato, pepper and eggplant  (See Figure 1).

I am going back to the figs now. Afiyet olsun!

ABC and ÇĞÜ

“Six AAAA!!! Six AAA! I. Said. Form. A. Line!! On the RIGHT SIDE OF THE YAARD! RIGHT SIDE OF THE YARD!!!!! HEEEY, SIX AA!” shouted a raspy-voiced woman this morning in the middle of my jet-lag suffering sleep. I could hear the frustration in her voice as she shrieked into the microphone: “six aaaAA!”. Whether she hoped shouting louder meant more authority, I do not know, but she certainly got me out of bed bolting into the living room with my camera in hand. I knew why she was yelling and I knew why she was agitated. It sounded so familiar…

Atacan Lisesi

It is the beginning of fall semester for primary and secondary schools (ilköğretim and lise) today. The students are back from a long four-month summer break, and hurdle into the yard to find their classmates and show off their new looks. Our apartment building is right across from ATACAN LİSESİ, where you can have a full view of 100+ students wearing their uniforms with the school logo patched either on their ties or on their sweaters. The students need to quickly form a line according to their height, but the problem is that they lack the line-making gene (which only exists in the Far-East and Germanic populations) and have overwhelming amount of growth hormone running in their blood. Hence, the confusion and hence, the cacophony of deafening yells.

These guys can form a line!

At Atacan Lisesi, the back-to-school ceremony started with İstiklal Marşı, and ended with the senior folk dance group performing a really good, ass-kicking Black Sea number.  It was pretty sad and funny to see the energy to die off when the students were told to move in to the classrooms, forming lines according to their class combination. 

On your first year of school, you are randomly assigned a letter and end up in a fixed classroom with students given the same letter as yours; like 1A, 1B or 1C. You sit in this assigned classroom with your 30+ classmates throughout the year as the teachers enter and leave. Next year, your classroom will move up a floor, but your classmates will stay the same throughout 5 years of education. Students of 6A in this incidence have been sharing the same classrooms since they were 1A.   On your 6^th year though, your classmates may change as you choose a major, which is either Literature (for Liberal Arts), Math (for Social Sciences) or Science (for Engineering and Natural Sciences). What you choose in your 6^th year is important, because it will (irreversibly) determine what you study when you are in college.  At least, this is how it was when I was in school… School system changes very often in Turkey and unfortunately, it reflects the current government’s political needs that are often unorganized and formed in a rush.
 

School Shuttles

Despite generations and generations of students, one thing never changes though... The joy of finishing the eight-hour long day; I don’t know how we did it, I mean, sit through blocks of two-hours-long lectures when we can’t even sit through two-minute Facebook video-posts. I watched the students as they walked to their shuttles, girls arm-in-arm and guys chasing girls-arm-in-arm… All mindlessly happy for at least not having to form lines for another day! 


p.s.: 6A, get it together! I will check your line tomorrow.

İstanpologie

Kozzy Mall

My favorite store

I love shopping in Istanbul! Especially, when I am out with my best friend Canan, and especially, if I pretend to be her personal shopper all day.  Istanbul is already a fashion center with rows and rows and rows of fancy clothing stores, shoe sales, outlets, vintage stores and boutiques in busy shopping malls arranged like sparkly beads on a string. Despite the number of local brands and the overwhelming sale signs, prices are a bit too expensive... Nevertheless, “7 taksitte ödeme” or payment in 7 installments with no interest rate, is enough reason for Turkish women to hurry the streets hauling Italian designer bags held in both hands.

The best part of shopping in İstanbul is that the stores do not close until almost midnight. So most people shop as a whole family, but men usually end up sitting outside with phones in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and children left to "day"care centers planted inside the malls. 

Custom-fitted trench coat

 It is always fun to sit down at a street café and watch the latest trends among women of all types: covered, pregnant, fat, curly, old… This year, covered women arrange their head-wraps like the Afghans, and compared to previous years' Saudi style, this is a huge progress in my opinion. Turkish women –covered or half-naked- are also always well-groomed. Even in their worst, their nails are done, eyebrows waxed, cheeks blushed and hair either dyed or blow-dried.  Always tailor-fitted, their outfits are never too small, nor too big nor too tight. So, it’s not surprising to see women lined up in front of mirrors with their hemlines getting pinned and pants and trench coats fixed to their sizes. All for free. Returned within the same day.

Oh mine…I love, love, love shopping in İstanbul!

The First Puzzle

Spot the Turks

Trace the Line

Istanbul is a city of characters. People in lines, people in cars, people on the streets... They all carry their anxieties, confusions, restless ambitions and dissatisfied life-dramas on their thick, tense eyebrows and sweaty-faces. They appear distinct- perhaps as people from any culture do- with the way they sit, the way they talk, the way they behave and the way they dress... You can spot them among a bunch of nationalities even before arriving Turkey. But, what really gives them away is how they form lines... Or rather, how they can NOT form lines. They are probably the only human form who can manage to exist in two or may be in three different lines (hence the complaint from a couple who left their son's stroller in another line: "honey, the line we are in never seems to move!"). I was behind a citizen, who was adorned with a business suit and a suitcase he probably bought in the '60s (and haven't washed since). He was quite stressful and couldn't decide which line he should be a part of. So, I asked him: "Which line are you in?". With a face similar to that of an African lion resting under the sun, pissed but ignorant, he said: "It doesn't matter." 

Hit the Frogger

Well, he was right, it didn't matter for Candan Erçetin who seemed to master the art of passing through unformed lines, glass doors and body of gawkers like a ghost...She had that air about her that noone had. She was tall, smiling and walked very fast. I don't think even the traffic awaiting outside for us all could stop her. The traffic that at times make you feel that the city has reached its capacity for cars, like noone will ever move anymore, like we will sit in our cars until the fuel runs out or until they built new roads! But somehow, those who cut you in the airport line, materialize in their cars next to you. Moving faster than you. In the service lane. Cutting the line. Again.

First lesson in Istanbul: It doesn't matter which line you are in, as long as you are in front of somebody.