Zayıfladın!

I just noticed that my Google is in Turkish. Neato. Anyway, today was a pretty fun, relaxing jaunt through the neighborhood. We all woke up at 1:00pm, or at least that is when we all officially were out of bed. I, on the other hand, was woken up THREE goddamned times by one of the dorm managers who first asked me what program I was with; second, wanted to move someone else into the apartment with us, which I cleverly avoided; and finally, wanted to know why my roommate and I had taken rooms that did not coincide with our assigned keys (answer: because they were bigger and there was no one else moving in with us). They also scolded me for storing my empty suitcases in an empty room, and the guy's scrawny henchman actually commanded me to "pick it up." The goal is to win over the support of the see-through shirt-with-wife-beater-underneath-wearing official and his ilk through kindness and curiosity. People love talking about themselves (see above), and I have found that Turks, to generalize, enjoy it as much as Americans do, but especially when you ask. Bingo bango bongo. 

Anyway, after we all had our fill of sitting around and thinking about going to the grocery store, we actually went to the grocery store. Got the essentials: 8 gallons of water, some crackers, olives, glasses, and a watermelon. The watermelon remains whole because we couldn't find a store open today that would sell us a knife serious enough to do some damage to it. Tomorrow we'll have much better luck, as all the knifesmiths will be well-rested and eager to show off their wares. Before shopping, though a cool thing happened. We were grabbing lunch at one of the kebab places right outside the university gates, and I saw my old TA from 2006, Kadir, crossing the street. Naturally, I stood up and hollered his name, drawing attention to the fact that I am an idiot, and what's more, an idiot with a full beard and fiery red hair. I try not to embarrass my family, I really do. Kadir saw me, smiled, and came over to chat. He'll actually be teaching grammar this summer to the intermediate kids. It was really cool to see him, and was the second instance of someone recognizing me, or knowing people I know. 

The third came a couple hours later, as we headed back out from the dorm to descend the infamous Bebek hill to the Bebek neighborhood below us. Bebek means "baby," and I am honestly not sure how your neighborhood gets that name unless it is particularly fertile. I saw a few kids, but tons of stray dogs. Big ones. My guess is there has been a horrifying adjustment to the food chain down there. Anyway, as we left the dorm, the security guard at the gate was letting a car pass through, and signaled for us to watch out as the gate swing back down. We passed by, and he called after me, in Turkish, "This is your second year here, right?" He said he remembered me from last summer, and I said "No, it was 2006," and he said "Aha! You're right! You've gotten thinner!" (Alternate translation of the word: "You have developed an illness!") I love Turkey! He remembered me so well that he knew I was a bit huskier last time. Incredible. Then I found out he remembered Ben and Dave (Davut!), especially, very well. Dave, did you and this guy kill somebody together and dispose of the body in the Otopark?

Bebek was fun. Waffle sellers (the pimped out, candied up kind) everywhere, corn carts with headlights, and of course the insufferable drunken fishermen along the waterfront. We walked probably three or four miles, roundtrip, and the weather was beautiful the entire time. So beautiful, in fact, that some crazies came out. Not to be outdone by the fishermen using simple rods and bait, one man donned, I shit you not, a full wetsuit, goggles, and a snorkel, and was ARMED WITH A HARPOON GUN standing in waist-high water. When we arrived, he was reloading it and poking his head underwater to spot a fish or maybe an escaped prisoner to shoot. Not wanted to find out the hard way whether he knew how to use the thing or not, we moved along. He looked straight out of Thunderball. Wait for the photograph. 

Dinner consisted, for me, of a cheese sandwich for the second night in a row. Granted, tonight's featured a different style of bread and a different style of cheese, and was on a rooftop overlooking the Bosphorus and surrounded by disco and techno clubs, but I think tomorrow I might go out on a limb and order something recognizably meaty. Someone else ordered kumpir, which is a baked potato stuffed with so much that it honestly looks like you're eating the contents of a potato's stomach. Delicious image. On the way to dinner, we saw (and immediately pledged to one day imitate) a 70 year-old man on rollerblades. He was fabulous. He looked like the stereotypical old Turkish man, but on rollerblades: short, stocky, with a mustache flapping in the wind and a woolen vest over a white shirt. He must have gained his inspiration from the new "Fitness Parks" that have sprung up along the waterfront, which feature fitness equipment designed for bodyweight exercises to be used by the neighborhood, outdoors, for free. We availed ourselves of the facility for a bit, although some of the devices made no sense, like one which featured two dials with handles for you to turn really fast. I guess it could be useful if you're training to flip your taxi, but hey, I'm not a scientist. There were a couple of women in hijabs grooving on the pseudo-ellipticals while their kids played on the jungle gym. One in our group pointed out that these machines are incredibly dangerous for kids, especially the leg press device, which could easily function as a convenient skull-fracturer to help you get to those delicious brains. But hey, it's good to see public spaces improved, and I love brains. Win-win.

We walked back up the murder hill, and managed to not get hit by the intrepid taxi drivers and pizza delivery guys gunning it up the hill as hard and fast as their 2-cylinder buggies could carry them. Tea was sipped, künefe (picture a huge Frosted Mini Wheat drowned in honey) was devoured, and plans made for a pre-1:00pm wake-up time were made. And so now, I must leave you to try and upload the first batch of admittedly mediocre photos to my Flickr account. 

Goodnight, Moon!