Housesit Adventures in Gökçeovacık

This past week, I did my first ever housesit in Gökçeovacık, a tiny Turkish village near the Aegean coast. Jasmin, a very cool English lady, contacted me via the website MindMyHouse.com.  After flying down to meet her a few weeks ago, I agreed to come back again to care for her pets while she was on vacation.

I packed my bags and took the one hour flight from Istanbul to Dalaman.

Complete with S'mores Poptarts (Thanks, Kayla) and Truvia packets (Thanks, Mom)

Jasmin picked me up from the airport and we chatted as we made the half-hour drive to the village. Perilous winding roads intended for car commercials brought us 450 meters into the sky. As we made our ascent, I felt my ears pop a few times.

The following morning, Jasmin left for her vacation and I was on my own.

See, Mom and Dad, I wasn't anywhere near Syria.

It was wonderful to get out of the city for a while and I was very ready for one week of ponytails and no makeup. Okay, so I put on some BB cream in the morning. If my boss requested an impromptu Skype call, I didn’t want him to scream in horror when he saw me. Plus it has 30 SPF. Give me a break.

The view from the upstairs balcony

You couldn't dream of a more charming or lovelier home. Jasmin told me that parts of the house were over 300 years old. As a stereotypical American, I'm impressed by any structure older than half a century.

Jasmin left me some of this heavenly German bread and lots of eggs she bought in the village. As you can see, I'm a highly sought after chef and food photographer.

In the mornings, I’d watch BBC World News, which was a big change from reading the news online. Hearing updates from attractive and racially-diverse people with posh British accents somehow softened the blow of tragic news. I also learned that I’d been pronouncing the names of many world leaders and terrorist groups incorrectly in my head.

My new office

Because about 90% of my job is done online, I'm able to work from anywhere with a decent internet connection. How lucky am I? These three cats (Thomas, Jaidee, and Tiddlywinks) snuggled up to me for most of the working day.

I don't know who's creepier in this picture, me or Thomas?

Don't be fooled by the above photo. I swear, Thomas loved me and was my faithful neck warmer for most of the week. The fourth cat, Boncuk, was a little standoffish and it took her a while to warm up to me. But she is a former Istanbulite, so I’m not sure why I expected anything less.

Callie, Pixie, and Zaza

Growing up, my family always had pets, but since graduating from university I haven't been able to have any four-legged friends of my own.  When people ask me what I miss most about America, my answer is usually Mexican food and my dog, Scout.  I can Skype with my friends and family back home, but I can’t really Skype with my dog...or a seven-layer burrito.  For me, the best part of the housesit was spending time with these affectionate animals.  

A very rustic looking farm implement relating to olive harvesting...I think.

While Gökçeovacık was extremely peaceful, it was far from quiet.  I traded Istanbul’s sounds of car horns, revving engines, simit sellers, and squawking seagulls for the village sounds of cautious tires on gravel, dueling cock-a-doodle-doos (or as Turkish roosters say, “kuk-kurri-ku”), sheep bleating, chattering birds, and an owl that I often heard, but never saw. Now that I think about it, the sheep and simit venders sound nearly identical.  

A purring leg warmer!

I haven’t owned a television for about a year, so I had fun watching Jasmin’s. (To be clear, I download loads of TV shows, I just don’t have the luxury of channel surfing.) One night, I watched an episode of The X-Files, which made me feel really nostalgic. Fox Mulder, I'll love you til the day I die. It wasn’t as scary as I remembered, but it’s spooky enough when you’re staying alone in an isolated mountain village. I may or may not have stacked chairs against the front door before I went to bed.

It was funny to see the cigarettes blurred out in the series; censorship that has had little influence over the Turkish public. If anything, it draws more attention to the fact that the person is smoking. Besides, the tendrils of smoke ascending from the blur are a bit of a giveaway. It’s a good thing it wasn’t an episode with the Smoking Man.

View from Göcek marina

On Saturday, I went to a birthday celebration in Göcek for Sina, Jasmin’s neighbor.  I was anxious about going to a party where I knew no one, but ended up having a complete blast.  The group of people consisted of about half-a-dozen nationalities, who all seemed to be connected through the local animal shelter.  Throughout the afternoon, we shared wine, food, and funny stories.  I was the youngest person there by twenty years and everyone kept calling me a “young girl”, which was sweet.  

Ain't no party like a Gökçeovacık party, because a Gökçeovacık party stops at 10pm.

I enjoy spending time alone, so I wasn’t disappointed at all when this turned out to be my Saturday night. Being lazy in front of the fire I'd built myself (after much turmoil) was great. Also, there was no one around to hear me speaking in my animal voice, which is two octaves higher than my normal timbre.

My first attempt at aesthetically arranging fruit

On Sunday, Sina took me to the market in town. The area is famous for its oranges, so I had to buy a few of those. I went a little overboard with the strawberries, but it was totally worth it. According to the legends (and Wikipedia), Göcek is the area that Icarus landed in the sea after his famous flight. Today, the small town is part of the “Turkish Riviera” and is known for its yacht tourism. It seemed charming enough, but I was glad that I was staying in Gökçeovacık.

The lone mosque in the village

In the whole week I was there, I only ran into about ten people in the village.  One day, as I was taking the garbage to the dumpster, I crossed paths with a woman who looked to be approximately one million years old.  She smiled at me to reveal a set of multicolored teeth that were an amalgam of white, gold, and silver, like a metallic ear of flint corn.

"Do you want to buy some eggs, my dear?", she asked.

“No. Thank you. House in many egg there is”, I responded in my impeccable Turkish.

She said something that I didn’t catch, not because I couldn’t understand her, but because I couldn’t stop looking at her kaleidoscopic teeth.  They must be worth a fortune.  I wondered if she included them in her will and left individual teeth to different people.  

For my sister, Gamze, I leave my golden left canine.  

For Kemal, the one who got away, I leave my silver lower right cuspid.  

For Halil, my ex-husband, I leave my rotted molar. You stole the best years of my life, you a**hole.

I snapped out of my testament fantasy and realized that she was waiting for me to respond.

"No, thank you, auntie.  Good day.  See you later.  Take it easy.  Bye-bye."

She sheathed her teeth and I knew I’d be getting a rotted tooth like Halil.

Wowee!

Not wanting to face the egg seller so soon after our fruitless business encounter, my short trip to the dumpster turned into a long walk. I came across a couple goatherds and decided that if things didn't work out in Istanbul, roaming around with livestock all day in Gökçeovacık wouldn't be the worst backup. Plus, the rain boots and elastic-waist pants the goatherds wore seemed like my kind of uniform.

The lady goatherd definitely saw me take this selfie and definitely judged me.  
Her flock probably did too.

It rained a fair amount during my stay, but there was almost always a dry window when I could take the dogs for a walk. Plus, given my proclivity for sweating, I didn't mind that the weather was on the cool side.

Anyone want a puppy?

One day, I was drafted to help Sina vaccinate her nine rescue puppies.  I was extremely nervous and imagined myself going to bed with several gashes and possibly frothing at the mouth, but it went just fine.  I would lure each puppy into a warm embrace of false security and Sina's deft hands would administer the injection, which they never seemed to feel.  Hanging out with puppies is very cool and very messy.

Goodnight, Gökçeovacık!

My week in Gökçeovacık was so magical. The best part of my stay were the daily walks I went on with the dogs.  They were so wonderful that I'm saving those stories for the next blog entry.  Get excited!

If you fancy doing some housesitting, check out Mind My House  or Trusted Housesitters.  Also, take a look at the Göcek Animal Rescue.  They’re doing really incredible work.

Special thanks to my boss Erol for letting me do this, Aylin for being my emergency contact with ulterior motives, Tarık for loaning me his camera, and most of all Jasmin for sharing her pets and home with me.

Kiss-Kiss-Hug-Hug: The Definitive Guide

I spent the summer of 2009 in Paris as an intern at an interactive art museum for children.  It sounds glamorous, but it was mostly me cutting out shapes and realizing that my French wasn’t very good.  Constant paper cuts aside, I did my best to blend into Parisian culture. I took the métro, wore black tights under my shorts (très-chic at the time), rolled my eyes at tourists from my homeland, and ate unpasteurized cheese daily.  The pinnacle of sophistication, right?

No?  Okay, let’s go with "aspiring snob".

As you can see, I did an impeccable job of blending in.

One cultural habit I loved about France was la bise, which is when two people kiss each other on the cheeks as a greeting.  I tried to bring it back to America, but it weirded people out and the elegant double kiss eventually faded to a single peck reserved for my close friends and family.

So I was pleased when I moved to Turkey to discover that kissing as a greeting is everywhere.

In France, la bise routines vary slightly by region, but the rules are pretty straightforward.  They even have the polite phrase, “on se fait la bise?”, which means, “shall we give each other a kiss?” and carries the subtext “you don’t have to feel awkward and can totally say no, so don’t worry about it, because it’s not a big deal either way”.

Cheek kissing in Turkey is ANARCHY.

This is me everyday.

It’s not simply a matter of knowing if you should kiss someone, but you have to ask yourself the following questions:

How many kisses and/or hugs?

Do I go right or left?

Is it a kiss or more like a double face bump?

Where do your hands go?

Should hair be moved for easier cheek access?

I'm serious, anything freaking goes in this country.

Sometimes people kiss the air, sometimes it’s lips on face, or sometimes it's just cheek to cheek. Sometimes the kiss is audible and sometimes it’s a silent pucker. Sometimes the embrace is a double chest bump that looks like an indecisive hug. Sometimes men greet each other by simply touching their temples, like they’re exchanging secret information through osmosis. Sometimes it's a handshake-hug hybrid.

A few weeks into my new life in Turkey, I started to miss the formality and simplicity of bowing in Korea.

I have been both people in this scenario numerous times.

Over the past couple of years, I've developed a strategy. When greeting someone I don't know very well, I smile, chuckle awkwardly, lean in slightly, and let the other party take it from there. If you opt for this route, it’s important to keep an open mind and know that anything could happen.

There are also times when there’s a receiving line of people (i.e. at a party) and you kiss the first three because you know them, but the fourth person is someone you’ve never met.  In this situation, you should let out an awkward “haha” that roughly translates to “I don’t know you, but I just kissed the three people before you and everyone ahead of me kissed you, so I guess I’ll kiss you too.” The person will then emit a nearly identical “haha” which means “I get it.  Just go for it”.

It happens all. the. time.

Not long after I first came to Turkey, I went to my friend Cemre’s henna night (a sort of bachelorette party, but infinitely better). I was the only foreigner there and I met at least thirty of her relatives.  Each time I extended my right hand and said, “Merhaba”, the family member would clasp my open palm, pull me to his or her chest like an impatient tango partner, plant two kisses on my flushed cheeks, and say “Hoşgeldin”.  

“Merhaba”, I’d repeat like a dazed moron.

That night and her wedding remain my two favorite days in Turkey. Probably one of the most wonderful weekends of my life.  With each forceful hug, my cold American heart got a little bigger.   I arrived a stranger to everyone except Cemre, but I left feeling like family with these lovely people. It was incredibly touching, you guys.

Me and Aylin (one of the first people I ever gave a Kiss-Kiss-Hug-Hug to) on Xmas
I just really like this picture. (Photo by Maria Korneva)

If a gift is exchanged, someone is leaving for more than a week, someone returns from a vacation longer than five days, or you meet a good friend whom you haven’t seen in a while, you need to do a Kiss-Kiss-Hug-Hug. Just follow these six easy steps to avoid embarrassment:

1. Place your hands on the other person's shoulders

2. Kiss* their right cheek (on your left)

3. Kiss* their left cheek (on your right)

4. Remain on the right side and hug†

5. Switch back to the left side and hug†

6. Release

*The kissing can be replaced with short dialogue, including, but not limited to: "Merhaba", "Nasılsın?","Hoşgeldin", "Hoş bulduk".  Sentences may not exceed three syllables.  

†Back rub with right hand optional

It's simple.

The Kiss-Kiss-Hug-Hug took me months to master. I finally got the hang of it after I had to do five of them in rapid succession, when I brought my co-workers in Yalova Christmas presents from America.  With the combination of a gift exchange, returning from a trip, and a holiday, it was mandatory.

If there were a movie montage of me mastering greeting culture in Turkey, this would be its climax. (The song for the montage would be Gimme Some Lovin' by Spencer Davis Group, in case you were wondering.) When I perfectly executed the final Kiss-Kiss-Hug-Hug with Gülseven Abla, the woman who cooked and cleaned at the school, I expected people to start applauding, confetti to fall from the ceiling, and a big banner to drop down that read, "We knew you could do it, Laurel!" No such luck.

This was taken at the height of the "Gangnam Style" craze.

It's also common in Turkey for young kids to hug and kiss their teachers. My elementary students in Yalova were very affectionate. We had a "Kindergarden Cop" dynamic going on; me, the unfeeling foreigner and them, the crazy yet lovable children.  This class in particular would all shout, “Laurel Teacher!”, whenever I walked into the room and would then maul me with germy hugs and slobbery kisses.  You know, the sort of thing that would be a guaranteed lawsuit in America.

Clive, an Englishman to the core, hated getting physical attention from his students. Whenever a child would wrap him in a warm embrace, Clive Teacher would stand there, rigid as a pole, looking completely miserable.

"I hate when they do that. It makes me look like a paedo!", he'd tell me after one of these encounters.

I love you, Drake and Francis, wherever you are.

Speaking of Clive, I've known my best friend in Turkey for nearly three years.  In the course of our close friendship, we’ve told each other secrets, gone on adventures, and called each other in times of crises.  We even got pet ducks, undoubtedly one of the worst decisions in either of our lives.

In all this time, we have shared exactly three awkward hugs.

When Clive found out that he was accepted to METÜ, one of the most prestigious universities in Turkey, it was probably the best news of his life.   He called me on the phone and was overjoyed.  Upon seeing him an hour later, I gave him a tentative congratulatory double pat on his shoulder.  I could tell that he was genuinely very moved.

Burcu and Clive

Photo by Maria Korneva

Clive and his wonderful girlfriend Burcu came to Istanbul for Christmas. At the end of their visit, I walked them to the bus station.  I’d only met Burcu a few days before, but we got along really well, so I went in for the Kiss-Kiss-Hug-Hug.  I turned to Clive, lightly placed my hand in his shoulder and said, “Take it easy, Clive-O”.

Burcu looked confused and said, “Clive, what are you doing?  Give your friend a kiss.”

Clive visibly recoiled.

We looked at Burcu and then at each other.

“Nah.  That’s okay”, we both said.

Clive is Olivia Pope in this exchange.

But, I digress from the kissing culture at hand.  Here are some day-to-day Turkish situations you might find yourself in.

If two women between the ages of 18-40 are being introduced by a mutual friend, it is acceptable to double kiss.

If the relationship is of a professional nature, but you are Facebook friends and have commented “Afiyet olsun!” on their picture of homemade mantı, which they in turn “liked”, you may kiss on both cheeks.

If you see a friend somewhere you aren’t expecting to see them, pucker up.

If you go to a person's home, even if it's someone you saw earlier that day, you need to give them a double hug or some variation as you cross the threshold. You just do.

This was the nicest wedding that ever was or will be. Trust me.

I was at a coworker’s wedding a few months ago and as the newly married couple was making its way from table to table, I stood up with my friends.  I’d never met my coworker’s wife before. I started getting nervous and talking out loud to no one in particular. 

“I never know if I should kiss someone or not.  It seriously stresses me out”, I whined.

“We don’t know either”, my friend Dilek said behind me.

I spun around to see if she was serious.

“Wait?  Are you serious?”

“Of course”, she said and shrugged.

"[Insert string of expletives here.]"

I was shocked. I was so certain that all Turks were born with a gene that told them when and how to greet other people. They always seem so relaxed and confident about it.

Relief swept over me.  I still felt awkward, but it wasn’t quite so overwhelming knowing that my Turkish friends were just as uncertain as me.

When the beaming couple arrived at our table, without thinking, I gave the groom a double hug and the bride a double kiss.  It was impossible not to mirror the happiness radiating off of these two wonderful people.

In that moment, I felt so lucky to live in a place where a firm handshake or one-armed hug is insufficient for expressing warmth, happiness, or gratitude amongst friends.

Geocaching on Büyükada

My big brother Kyle came all the way from California to visit me! How lucky I am? We skype and email semi-regularly, but we hadn’t seen each other in person since Christmas of 2013! After a very happy reunion at the airport and a feast of delicious Turkish food, we started planning his itinerary.

Kyle wanted to visit somewhere with nature during his time in Istanbul.  I’m madly in love with this city, but (excluding a handful of great parks) it’s lacking in the flora department.  I was reminded of my magical day on Heybeliada and I thought that the Princes Islands would be our best bet.

The Steele kids in Istanbul

 I decided on the aptly named Büyükada, literally “big island” in English.  The island is only about two square miles (5.4 km²), but it’s the largest of the nine Princes Islands.   The Byzantines set up shop in the 6th century, back when the island was called Prinkipos.  A convent on the island was the place of exile for Byzantine empresses ranging from the 8th to 11th centuries.  Exiled Soviet revolutionary Leon Trotsky lived on the island from 1929 - 1933.  Today, it has a year round population of 7,320, with as many as 20,000 in the summer months.

One of the many stunning houses on the island

I explained to Kyle that Büyükada is free of cars and is primarily a holiday destination.

“So it’s pretty much Mackinac Island, right?”

“Pretty much.  Except it has monasteries instead of fudge.”

“Cool.  Let’s go.”

So the morning after Valentine’s Day, we took the relaxing hour-and-a-half ferry ride to Büyükada.

Did you honestly think I would do a post without street cats?

Geocaching is one of my brother’s favorite hobbies.  According to my darling Wikipedia, “geocaching is an outdoor recreational activity, in which participants use a GPS receiver or mobile device to hide and seek containers, called "caches", anywhere in the world.”  

According to my sweet brother, geocaching is “treasure hunting for grown-ups”.

Near the first cache!

I had Geocached with Kyle once before in northern Michigan...in three feet of snow.  I was not amused.  But I decided to give it another try.  Plus we were going to the Princes Islands, my favorite place in Istanbul.  They’re just so lovely.

Ah ha!

Non-geocachers who see you Geocaching are called muggles.  Anything that uses Harry Potter terminology is alright by me.  Besides, my worst nightmare is being labeled a mere muggle.

“A typical cache is a small waterproof container containing a logbook (with a pen or pencil). The geocacher enters the date they found it and signs it with their code name. After signing the log, the cache must be placed back exactly where the person found it. Larger containers may contain items for trading, usually toys or trinkets of little financial value, although sometimes they are sentimental.”

Between caches, we talked about life and our childhood.  I told him trivia about the island and he told me stories about geocaching.  Mostly we laughed a lot.

Island cats going NUTS after a person casually threw a kilo of raw meat into the street.

My brother and I have always been close.  Our mom says it’s because he went to boarding school around the time that most siblings start plotting dark ways to overthrow each other.  

Barely tolerating the outdoors circa 1990

It wasn’t 100% perfect, of course.  There was the time when I was twelve and Kyle was fifteen that he illegally took the car out for a joyride around the neighborhood when our parents weren’t home.  Instead of covering for my lovely big brother, I got the family video camera and walked around the house filming the empty rooms, saying, “Where is my brother?  Is he in the kitchen?  No.  Is he in the living room? No.”  

When I heard the garage opening, I ran to the door to catch him in the act.  I envisioned Kyle begging me on bended knee, “Have mercy, Laurel.  I’ll do anything.  Just don’t show Mom and Dad.”  Instead, when he saw what I was doing, that jerk smiled and waved!  You can hear me on the video laughing maniacally and saying, “He is so busted” over and over again.  When I showed my parents the heartbreaking but irrefutable evidence, they chuckled and complimented my comedic narration.  Not what I was going for.

Cats, horses, and chickens were just kicking it all over the island.

Don’t get it twisted, though.  My brother wasn’t the perfect angel. When Kyle and I were really young we shared a bedroom.  He has since confessed that he made sure that I always slept near the window, so when the monsters inevitably came, they would eat me while he made a quick escape.  Also, when he was eight, he deliberately gouged out my Barney doll’s eyes with his Swiss Army knife.  I have a very clear memory of him wearing his cub scout uniform and presenting me my recently mutilated toy.  

Monsters and purple dinosaurs aside, I really have the perfect brother.

Wishes for sale. 1 lira a piece!

At the foot of the hill to the monastery we bought water, a roll of cookies, and a couple of wishes. After seeing a never ending torrent of rose-toting lovey-dovey couples the night before, we both went for the “aşk” charms.  He opened the cookies as we started our ascent.

“Just so you know there’s a really great restaurant at the top of the hill where we’ll have lunch”, I told him.

“Okay.”

“I’m just saying you shouldn’t eat all of those cookies, because it might spoil your appetite.”

“You sound exactly like Mom.”

“Shut up”, I said as I brushed some crumbs off his jacket.

“See!  Just like Mom!”

“Whatever.  Let’s get going, Bubba*.”

I ended up having to finish my brother's fries for him, so guess who was right?

*My nickname for him.  Origin unknown.

Looking good, abim!

You can see Heybeliada (right) and some of the smallest Princes Islands  (left) in the background

A panoramic view from the top of the island at the amazing restaurant

Shade

We stopped inside the charming Saint George monastery at the top of the hill. It really is exquisite, if you get the opportunity to go.  There's a strict no camera rule, but I'm pretty reckless so I took this quick picture.  I got some hardcore judgement from my sibling.

It was getting pretty chilly, when we started looking for the last cache.  The coordinates led us to a secluded area, far from the path.

"I don't think this is a good idea.  We shouldn't be back here", I whined.

"It's fine.  Come on", my brother said with one eye on his phone and the other on the rocks.

It took us a while to find, but it was totally worth it.

We did it!

One of the trinkets in the geocache 

My brother's special tag that he brought all the way from sunny California.
We got the bird thing at an antique store near my house.

After we put the box back and carefully covered it with some rocks, we started heading back to the pier.  We played 20 questions as we made our descent  Answers included: menemen, creepy guy online, wristwatch, Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, Mehmet II, and horse droppings.  The last one was inspired by the inescapable scent on Büyükada, one of the island’s only faults.

"Man, I'm pretty tired", Bubba said.

"Well, that just means we'll sleep really well tonight".

"Dammit, Laurel. You are Mom!"

"Well, I'm right."

The day was perfect. My brother and I got to go on an adventure together and share our respective nerdom with each other. We made it back to Istanbul in one piece and, as I predicted, slept extremely well.

A very special thanks to the talented Kate Alber who used her super design skills to create the new blog layout and graphics.  In addition to doing freelance graphic design, working a full-time job, and co-running a clothing line, she has her own blog called “Making it Vegan”.  Check it out. It's omnivore approved!