-
The Locals May Cover Their Arms, Legs, and Hair from Public View During the Day, but Lira to Simits That They’re Watching Chelsea Handler at Midnight
The children don’t go to off to school. They don’t go to soccer or karate or swimming lessons. They have no friends, ergo no sleepovers, playdates, or squirt gun battles. To their everlasting credit—and with many notable hours of painful and frustrating exception—they are coping admirably. They’re taking succor in books, each other, a few
-
Second Grade Tour Guide
A few weeks ago, we experienced the Black Sea area of Turkey when we took the bus from Istanbul to the town of Amasra. While there, we flew rocks into the sea, walked over an old Roman bridge, and ate fish (well, some of us not born and raised in landlocked cattle country did, anyhow).
-
Bus Boys
Unless it’s wafting past the Wall of Whips in a high-end pleasure dungeon, the smell of burning rubber is never the precursor to a good time. Thus, it was unfortunate, as the bus traveling between Istanbul and the Black Sea coast chugged up a hill, that the smell of burning rubber grew in intensity. Moments
-
And Under It All, She Was Wearing Really Sassy Leopard Print Ballet Flats
“And Under It All, She Was Wearing Really Sassy Leopard Print Ballet Flats” We’re on an eight-day trip to Parts of Turkey As Yet Unseen, and I’ve been fighting for hours with the Internet access here at the guest house, so I’m just going to slam this thing out into the ether during my three
-
Dolmus Do-Si-Do
(Apologies to those of you who read this already over at our family’s “Turkey Blog,” which is associated with my husband’s blog of his drawings and comics; occasionally, I’ll be cross-posting between the blogs, but other times, like when I need to swear or refer to genitalia, I’ll be creating separate, new posts here. This
-
Tales from the Harem
“Tales from the Harem” Before we came to Turkey, I read a book of essays written by expatriate women about their experiences living outside the familiar. In many ways, the book was illuminating, as it lent real voices to real experiences and gave me a sense of what I was heading towards. About 15 essays
-
Ah, But How Much to Tip the Bellboy?
“Ah, But How Much to Tip the Bellboy?” Book me in for a week; that’s all I’m sayin’.
-
Every Time I Visit The Place, I Drag Along Exponentially More Companions. In Other Words, Because I Don’t Know a Whole Lot of Folks Here, I May Need to Request Your Presence at the Kilise Before the New Year
“Every Time I Visit The Place, I Drag Along Exponentially More Companions. In Other Words, Because I Don’t Know a Whole Lot of Folks Here, I May Need to Request Your Presence at the Kilise Before the New Year” If my soul were on a quest, last week’s sunset run down a long, dusty road
-
Forgive the Lack of Originality, But One Feels Compelled to Toss Out the Title of ‘Ice, Ice, Baby’
“Forgive the Lack of Originality, But One Feels Compelled to Toss Out the Title of ‘Ice, Ice, Baby’” There is no clearer evidence that Groom and I are adrift in a new place, casting about for moorings, than the fact that we’ve become The World’s Cheapest Dates. Seriously, it takes nothing to delight us. Case in point: we are
