Made it to Bolu--

Don't get your hopes up! This is only where I'm temporarily living until I find more permanent housing. My contact at the university, Abdullah Coskun (this is not exactly how it's spelled/pronounced-- I just don't have a key on my keypad for the right "s" in his name), is helping me to find accommodations. He has been incredibly hospitable and generous with his time.

It was with real relief (from travel exhaustion, hunger [Mom, I lived yesterday on the remaining ginger cookies Dad gave me Monday], anxiety about buying bottles of water) that I got here and shared a meal with my host. Delicious.

These, by the way, are from the university's guesthouse-- so whatever my living situation (apartment, room rental, dormitory) may be, this is a good place for guests for 35TL/night (at least that's the rate for me).

I am still not completely settled into the sleeping rhythms-- it's 3:26am here-- but I like all that I have seen so far of Bolu. Especially the ritual of taking tea after every meal.

Mediterranean Blue

When I was a kid, one of my favorite colors from the box of crayons was "mediterranean blue".

Now, we all know that "skin" was certainly not an accurate representation of the range of skin colors, so I assumed that "mediterranean blue" would also be well off the mark.

Turns out I was wrong.

The flight from Amsterdam to Istanbul was quite beautiful, but I didn't take any pictures.

Napping on Strange Shoulders

I am very lucky.

Yesterday at this time, I was having coffee at IHOP with Dad and heading back to Sea-Tac. It was a beautiful morning (on the way from Walla Walla in the DHC-8-400 we saw the mountain "was out"), so before escorting me to the flight check-in, he parked us on the garage roof and we took a few pictures of the control tower and the runways.

The flight from Seattle to Amsterdam was comfortable until the second time I woke up. See, when I'm traveling, poorly rested, or in new surroundings, I talk in my sleep.

I had been developing a rather pleasant rapport with my neighbors-- one a math/physics teacher at a German secondary school (she became convinced that I was Australian, and I still don't know how this miscommunication occurred), the other reading a mystery novel (alright in my book)-- when I awoke to realize that they'd both been staring rather in horror at me. I didn't go into it.

Thankfully, I hadn't been hoping either of them would let me nap on their shoulders.

People, Things That I Love

(In no particular order)

Luna at her favorite watering hole

Spencer and Jess just after soccer drills

(and right after a bird pooped on my new blue backpack. Angie says it's lucky!)

Five Days

My phone is dying. Turns out it only has to survive for five more days.

My flight was moved up from 8/28 to 8/27, so I'll probably spend the
additional evening in Istanbul before heading to Bolu on a great big bus.

It appears that there's a hotel right at the central bus station, so I may
just stay there and see if my anti-jet lag diet has worked.

I have been thinking that I do not feel very courageous or adventurous
right now, that I should very much like to have the rest of the season
for preserving or just eating the fruit fresh. Just a little more time.

But then again, I remind myself that courage is not fearlessness. I think
it's rather smart [in an evolutionary way] to have a healthy measure of
fear-- the world is not without its dangers. But I am able to look at my
fear, pay attention to it, and perhaps find that I don't need it.

More Reasons To Miss Walla Walla

Back row: Erich
Top row: Strawberry Rhubarb Jam, Peach Vanilla Bean Jam, Brandied Cherries
Bottom row: Dilled Green and Yellow Beans, Peach Barbecue Sauce, Corn Relish, Orange Rhubarb Jam, and Pickled Asparagus

We preserved the ripe peaches Saturday after an evening singing karaoke at the Golden Horse (that's GoHo to you) on Friday. Who's not pictured here? Applesauce after Sunday's Transparent Apple glean.

A Few Notes on Bolu, Turkey

A lot of people assumed that I would be working in either Istanbul or Ankara, and indeed most English Teaching Assistants (ETAs) are placed in universities in one of these major cities.

When I learned that I would be staying in Bolu and working at Abant Izzet Baysal University (IBU is the most common abbreviation that I've seen for this institution), I determined that any guides to the country I bought would note "Bolu" in their indexes.

The Lonely Planet series on Turkey does not [index] Bolu, but the Insight Guides does: "There is little reason to stop in Bolu, a non-descript Anatolian town, but about 32km (20 miles) west, tucked away in the woods, is the spa-and-hotel complex of Abant, on the shores of a jade-colored crater lake" (293).

But the DK Eyewitness Travel series has this to say: "The Bolu area is known for its deciduous forests and a steep mountain pass, which affords splendid views. It also produces a delicious ewe's milk cheese. At Kartalkaya, 42 km (26 miles) east of the town of Bolu, there is a pleasant ski centre open from December to March" (Swan 246).

In short, the travel books make Bolu (both region and town) out to be some kind of rural backwater. I remain skeptical of this, naturally. And, of course, my mom has a friend who has a friend (kudos, Mom, for being one of the best-connected women I know!) who writes that Lake Abant and the nature park are incredibly beautiful, that local people in Bolu are very welcoming, and that IBU is one of the most rapidly progressing universities in Turkey because it is funded both by the state and by a private foundation.

I can already see that some contradictory reports are to be expected.

Noting IBU, though-- the university takes part of its name from Izzet Baysal, a Bolu-born architect, businessman, and philanthropist who passed away in 2000 at the age of 93. I believe many of the local buildings (state hospital, agricultural bank houses, girls' institute, prison, bridges) credit his design. The private foundation that funds IBU is probably that which is also named after him

Lastly, I wanted to share a link to a paper written by my contact at IBU, Professor Abdullah Coskun. This piece was written in 2010 and is called "Whose English should we teach? Reflections from Turkey". When reading it, I resonated especially with the idea, summarized from Matsuda (2003), that English should be perceived as a pluralistic language rather than a monolithic one. English does not belong only to British or North American (yes, Canadians, I'm lookin' at you) speakers. English can be accessible to an ever-expanding group of speakers who possess a variety of accents, media preferences, and cultural backgrounds.

I am really looking forward to working at this university and living in this town.


Coskun, Abdullah. "Whose English should we teach? Reflections from Turkey." ESP World 27.9 (2010): 1-20.

Insight Guides: Turkey. 6th Ed. by Tom Le Bas. La Vergne, TN: Ingram Publisher Services, 2011. Print.

Swan, Suzanne. DK Eyewitness Travel: Turkey. New York: DK Publishing, 2012. Print.

To Clarify,

Do not assume that Walla Walla is the kind of magical place where all people-- regardless of their talent, common sense, or willpower-- can succeed in any endeavor of their pursuit. Here I have seen many projects aborted, many ideas dropped, many whispers of shame, many toes stepped on.
I considered starting a silkscreen T-shirt business (before the industry saw its recent renascence, I assure you), I failed utterly as a baker, and two weeks ago I burned a batch of apricots in the dehydrator.

But Walla Walla is the kind of place where, two weeks after you burn a batch of apricots, you get to glean yellow plums and bring them home.

Nine Years in Walla Walla

Friday I drove to Mom and Dad's home in Seattle. I started the drive with my Turkish language tape and a heart like a clenched fist. Karen called about our combined classroom, Jean called about Gleaners, and I called on my will to finish well the things that are important to me here. I didn't begin to relax until I shut off the Turkish pronunciation and found a country music station near Prosser.

Thursday Dana had asked me what I love about Walla Walla. The mediocrity of my response rather pursued me across the Columbia Plateau.

But tonight Erich and I rode our bicycles to Los Taquitos for burritos. When we passed the Baker Boyer Bank on Alder at 6:41pm, the temperature was still 95 degrees. Traffic is rarely heavy in Walla Walla, unless you get yourself caught downtown during a graduation or major wine weekend. Los Taquitos stands right next to Champ's Garage on Main across from the wrong side of the paper supply store.

With burritos in the bicycle basket, we headed home past Saint Patrick's Catholic Church. I waved at Tim--coming from the new house perhaps, plugged into his iPod--as we rode by Saint Paul's Episcopal Church. I don't think he saw me, but I'll call this week to see if he and Moira want to play pinochle.

My eighteen-year-old self, the one who promised herself a trip to Turkey, would despise or, worse, dismiss the life that I lead here now. I can only give thanks that I'm no longer a teenager and that I have learned the joys of cooking with locally grown food, collaborating on educational projects, venturing spontaneously and easily into downtown, playing trick-taking card games, sharing meals and conversation with my partner and friends, and singing along to Little Big Town's "Pontoon".