Rocks and Mountains in Gökçeovacık

Hey, party people!  If you missed my first blog post about Gökçeovacık and enjoy looking at pictures of cats, click here.  In the post, I mentioned that my favorite part about my housesit experience were the walks I would take with the three dogs.

Each afternoon, we set out to re-mark our territory throughout Gökçeovacık.  Well, the dogs did.  I politely averted my eyes every time one of them squatted down to reclaim a patch of grass.  I’m so glad humans don’t have to urinate on something to state their ownership. Imagine coming out of store and seeing someone sitting in your car saying, "Sorry, it's mine now. I peed on it while you were paying for your groceries." Yikes.

Just kidding around!

When I had visited Jasmin a few weeks before, we went on a couple of hikes and it quickly became apparent that my jeans and battered running shoes wouldn't be enough to handle the occasional rough terrain and the never-ending torrent of my sweat.  I had some shopping to do.

A lovely olive orchard

The only remotely athletic pants I own are a pair of grey spandex bottoms that I jaggedly cut off just above the knee, making me look like a jazzercise pirate.  I only wear them in the privacy of my own home when I run on the treadmill, as they mercilessly highlight my butt sweat.  There was a chance that I might meet the lumberjack of my dreams on the mountain paths of Gökçeovacık.  Visible butt sweat was not a risk I was willing to take.  So I bought some black Nike pants for a mind-blowing 20TL from a man on the street who assured me that they were “otantik”. Right.

Selam, Zaza!

Before coming to the village, I also bought a pair of Timberland-esque shoes.  I know they’re all the rage now, but urban/rugged just isn’t a look I can pull off. However, high-quality hiking shoes cost 300TL, which is way out of my price range.  I decided that no one would see me wearing them, so it wasn’t that big of a deal.   I ended up falling in love with these boots and wore them at every opportunity. They were (mostly) waterproof and made me feel cooler than I looked.  

Me, Zaza, and Pixie in front of some ruined housing once used by Greek miners

For each walk I was clad in my mismatched hiking garb, Sparty shirt (Go Green!), and feminist bag, which would serve as a conversation piece for when I met my Turkish Paul Bunyan.  Sure, his name might be closer to Cem Bayram, but his mountain man facial hair would be perfection. If Turkish men have mastered one thing, it’s the burly, yet well groomed beard.  I think they probably invented it.

Where's Callie?

Callie, the apparent alpha female of our pack, only joined us on the path about a quarter of the time and spent the majority of our romps out of sight.  She would occasionally come check on us, smell something more interesting, and then set off into the brush again.

Maybe an old church?

Jasmin assured me that I'd be perfectly safe walking around on my own, but she didn't have Marianna Steele as her mother growing up. In my feminist bag, I packed a butter knife for self-defense. Even though it's absurd, it made me feel better.  Thankfully, I didn’t have to gut any highwaymen and I completely forgot that the knife was even in my bag…until airport security found it while I was on my way home.*

neighboring olive orchards and a yoga retreat

I wish I could say that I didn’t use technology during my hikes, but I had my GPS out every 10 minutes.  Ironically, the footpaths surrounding Gökçeovacık were the only place I got cell service.  I was only in Girl Scouts for a month in kindergarten, so my navigation skills are pretty sub par. If I didn’t have to get back to the house to work, I would have been more open to exploring sans technology, but alas, I have bills to pay.  (Do you see what a fiercely devoted employee I am, Deniz and Erol?)

Without the aid of my iPhone, I’d still be roaming the thick foliage encompassing Gökçeovacık. I would have undoubtedly become a feral mountain creature feared by the locals and the star of cautionary tales to keep village children from staying out past dark.  They would refer to me as the Chupalaurel or maybe the Abominable Laurel.

more Greek houses

I occasionally wondered what would happen if I fell and twisted my ankle.  Who would I call?  In the whole week, I only crossed paths with a handful of people.  Could I send the dogs to fetch help or would they abandon me in search of food and better company?  They understood Turkish and English commands, but I didn’t think I could explain the Timmy-Lassie dynamic adequately in any language, especially if I were in pain.  Fortunately, I didn’t take any serious tumbles.

Hi, Pixie!

We often got caught in the rain on our walks and this day was a particularly wet one. This was at a stunning house at the top of a hill overlooking the village, which was owned by some millionaire who hadn't been down to Gökçeovacık in five years. The building and grounds were well maintained by a caretaker and locals were welcome to poke around. How cool is that?

One of the challenges of traveling alone is getting a good photo of yourself.  Strangers are always happy to take a picture when I ask, but I hesitate to say, “Could you take another one that doesn’t show my double chin, please?” Also, I’m too much of a snob for a selfie stick.  Luckily, my friend Tarık’s camera had a timer. Unfortunately, I am not faster than that timer.

Heh, heh, heh.

I had no photographer on hand to tell me what a creep I looked like in this picture and it was raining just hard enough that I didn't care to take another. One thing I loved about the rain was that it automatically turned the saturation of all the village's colors up by 30%. It was gorgeous.

On our way home after an evening walk.

Even with the aid of my friend's camera, I don’t feel I was able to capture the magic I saw and felt on these walks.  No amount of filters or Photoshop can recreate the green I saw with my own eyes.  I wanted to bottle everything and take it with me.  I wanted to seal the sun in a jar, the breeze in another, and compact the myriad of smells into an aerosol can. Of course I couldn’t, but maybe that’s for the best.

Sina and her dog Irma joined us for one of our walks and we happened upon this turtle. Nature is the best! It was nice having another human along to talk to and to tell me that the bush I was trying to walk through would give me a rash if I touched it with my bare skin.

I've always been averse to any type of physical exertion. Whenever I'm running on my treadmill, I stare at the white wall in my living room and try desperately to think of anything other than the fact that I'm doing physical activity. During my walks with the dogs, it was the opposite. I stared at everything around me and couldn’t imagine anything beyond my present surroundings. It was like living in a dream. I never ran into my fantasy lumberjack, but as Jane Austen wrote, “What are men to rocks and mountains?”

more olive orchards

Goodbye, Gökçeovacık!

 *As I was passing through initial airport security in Dalaman, a guard waved me over.

“Excuse me, ma’am.  Do you have a knife in your bag?”

“Um…oh…OH, NO…ah…evet."

I unzipped the small suitcase Aylin had loaned me to retrieve the blade, revealing the famous Göcek oranges I was bringing back with me.  I turned scarlet.

“Portakal mı?”, one of the men asked me.

“Um, yes. Göcek orange.  Very beautiful and yummy.”

“Awww!  How sweet is this girl?”, a female security guard cooed.

I slowly pulled the silver knife from the feminist bag and presented it to my potential jailers.

Silence.

“What do you call this in English?”

“It’s called a butter knife.”

I then unnecessarily demonstrated how one would use such a utensil by spreading invisible butter on an invisible piece of bread.  

“Çok pardon, I just forgot”, I shrugged dramatically.

The security guards all looked at me, the idiotic foreigner, and then back at each other.  After a moment they all burst out laughing.

Every drop of blood in my body relocated to my face.

They let me keep my deadly weapon (permitted I checked my suitcase), wrote my name, passport number, and “tereyağı bıçağı” in an official looking book, and then smiled as they enthusiastically waved me on my way.

I didn’t stop blushing until my plane landed in Istanbul.

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.