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Pictures by Greg. Words by Loren. Editing of any kind by...no one.
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| Greg and Loren in the foothills of the Taurus Mountains |
Co-ed Muslim Yoga
Yep. I typed it.
One of my jobs at Antalya International University (AIU),
aside from my teaching schedule, is organizing the Creative Use of English
(CUE) Activities. Greg teaches basketball. He makes sure that the students tell
him the score in English as he towers over them on the court. I teach yoga.
I have been teaching yoga in some form or another for a few years now,
and I’ve been practicing for almost a decade.
So, I am not a novice to most types of yoga that are in the general breath,
sweat, and flow realm.
That was before AIU.
Teaching yoga here posed a unique challenge. Our school and much of Turkey come with
conservative values towards self-composure, dress, and gender norms. I was
taken aback the day before I started my class when a young female student came
into my class and asked, “Teacher, there will be no men in yoga, yes?” I gasped. Hadn’t thought about that. Probably
should have. I told her that I could not
promise that. “Well, what should I wear?
I can’t wear tight clothing?”
Also, hadn’t considered that. Living in Antalya – with it’s Eternal
Summer, beach town vibe – I forgot that there was entire chunk of the Turkish
population that keeps themselves almost completely covered regardless of hot
weather or sport activity. Again, I had no response, but an aloof muttering of: “OK, something that won’t exposure much of
your form.” As she got up from her chair
to leave my office, she said, “Good, teacher, because girls can’t show
themselves in front of boys.”
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| OK, so I am not doing yoga. But it's athletic and kind of humorous. |
I had to redesign my entire idea of this yoga class. What I
hoped would be some great breathing exercises, a sun salutation, and some
introductory asanas would have to be thrown out. Realistically it would be a class of
college-aged boys and girls in a small room – seething with a ripe mixture of
hormones and repressed sexuality. Some of the young female students would be sheathed
in ankle-length dresses and buttoned-up jackets, with the physical confines of
not being able to expose arms, calves, thighs, or bum to one another. How was this even going to be yoga? I gripped the arms of my leather, waxy office
chair in frustration. Then it dawned on me…yoga in a chair!
That’s exactly what I did.
Cross-legged forward folds...in a chair. Abdominal and spine twists...in a
chair. Seated eagle pose…you bet! Just
push that floor-length grandma skirt out of the way, honey. No butts were exposed. No bosoms were
flaunted. Granted, many of the poses were initially met with large gasps and
self-conscious giggles. But they enjoyed
the breathing and the five-minute lazy chair break I allotted for the end of
class. By the end of class, all the students knew the difference between inhale and exhale. A large, muscle-bound, steroid inflated, redheaded, Russian
dude told me, “Teacher, my arms feel muscly. Yoga is fresh feeling.” Wow. ‘Roid Head thinks this is legit. (And I enjoyed his creative use of English). I’ve finally arrived.
Pirates of the Turkish Mediterranean
This is a weird story.
One afternoon, a Turkish staff member came to my office and proposed a
CUE Activity. She suggested hosting a flight simulation. That seems pretty cool. “How would you use English?” I asked. She explained her plan, having students act
as passengers who would check in for their flights, board the plan, and find
their seats. Well, that sounded good. She went on to explain that some students
would act as flight attendants, checking boarding passes, helping passengers,
and asking for drink, meal, and movie orders.
Perfect. This seemed really cool.
Then she added, “And of course, the pirates.”
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| Greg's amazing shot of the Turkish flag whipping in the sea breeze. |
The pirates? “Yeah,
you know, Loren, the people that come on the plane and kill people and make the
plane crash.” My front teeth sank deeply
into my bottom lip and my heart started beating erratically. I gulped a nervous
yell down my throat, stuffing it deep into the pit of my stomach. I bore a glare
of horror directly into this Turkish teacher’s eyes. “Um…Do you mean you want
to have a plane hijacking simulation?” I inquired nervously. She said, “Well, no, because
the passengers will kill the pirates and it will be fine. It will be fun for
the students.”
This was my moment.
This was the moment where I realized that even in Turkey – a country and
culture with secular leanings that is still heavily influenced by Islam - the threat
of terror is still deeply embedded. The
culprits are not Muslims, or Arabs, or Far East religious zealots; they are pirates
who have no nationality, no god-driven agenda, and no conspiracy to obliterate all
things Western or American. All these students were about my age, or at least a
part of my generation. We are the global
generation of High Alert!, random baggage searches, and internationally
sanctioned racial and religious profiling in the name of National Security. Here in Turkey, the passengers fight back against
the pirates on planes and the passengers win.
But the pirates are still very much on the plane.
Speaking of Pirates...
On a much lighter note, for my birthday in the beginning of
October, Greg took me on a genuine pirate ship cruise around the Gulf of Antalya.
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| Actual ship. Pretty authentic looking. |
In the late afternoon sunset, with the light
slithering across the water like a cobra dancing to the rhythm of crashing
sapphire waves, we delighted in seeing the ocean view of our new hometown.
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| Greg captures a beautiful sunset from the ship. |
We even got to see a real pirate cove! It
was a beautiful pirate cruise, and I am very lucky to have such a fun and
adventurous husband.
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| The water is really that beautiful. Everyday. |
Dinner in the Taurus Mountains and Other Food Things
Before we headed into the foothills of the Taurus Mountains,
our host and tour guide for the night – a longhaired fey member of our AIU
staff, Ebru – had us stop at a local grocery store to pick up backyard barbeque
supplies.
While Greg made a beeline for
the beer and chip aisles, I shuffled through the store looking for desserts.
I met up with Ebru in the produce
section.
She saw me with a handful of
grapes and asked, “What are you doing?”
I figured grapes would be a delicious snack for dessert.
She smiled and sweetly retorted, “Don’t be
silly, we can just pick these in the garden.”
It was the beginning of a beautiful night of scenery, new friends, and
delicious food.
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| The view from Ebru's rooftop. |
Ebru’s family is from a small village nestled in the
foothills of the Taurus Mountain, the rocky range that crumbles directly into
the Mediterranean and overlooks the entire city of Antalya. Riding up into the
village, we passed green valleys and small roadside stands through the
windows of Ali’s Ford Taurus (an apt ride for our adventure!).
We stopped to take a drink of water from
public fountains feed by a locally sourced spring (it was crisp and cold with a
subtle tinge of vines). We arrived at Ebru’s house, a tiny pink cottage. Simple
in design, it was a collection of four rooms (a kitchen, bathroom, living room,
and outdoor patio) with a large rooftop from which we could see the rocky,
rolling valleys below and the sea off in the distance.
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| No water? No problem! Fill up at this roadside, fresh water fountain. |
Ebru never comes to her family’s mountain cottage without
visiting her grandparents. This trip would be no exception. We girls piled into
the car for a visit. Just a few winding turns farther up the mountainside sat her grandparents’ house.
They invited us all onto the porch and apologized for being dirty as
they were in their garden all afternoon.
To this I replied: “Garden?!”
Happily, they pointed to their backyard and invited us to pick fresh peppers,
tomatoes, grapes, and blackberries straight off the vine. I got impatient and
ate a fat, sun-ripened tomato as soon as a plucked it.
Delicious – even with a few speckles of
dirt.
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| Ebru's Grandparents |
Narrowly avoiding chickens trying to cross the road on
our way back, we arrived home to the find the guys on the rooftop, looking out onto Antalya far, far below. In our absence, the guys
collected pinecones to use for fuel for our barbeque. A group of us ventured
into the garden at Ebru’s cottage and started plucking pomegranates right from
the tree.
“How can I even tell if this
is ripe yet?”
No one knew, and no one
cared because there were just too many that eventually we’d get it right.
That was a great life moment.
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| Loren picking pomegranates |
We relaxed on the porch for a bit, chatting, imbibing, and
playing Rumikub (which is immensely popular here).
That’s when I broke out some fresh bread
and my most-requested recipe in Turkey, which I now call the Antalya Olive Oil Dip. It’s very simple and not terribly original, but it’s a huge hit here, so I
provided the recipe below. That was enough to whet everyone’s appetite. We
started cooking!
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| Greg enjoying some bread, dip, and grilled chicken. |
Ali manned the grill,
perfectly preparing that-day-slaughtered chicken, roasted tomatoes and
peppers. Colleen grabbed some blackberries.
Cindy and I sliced up fresh vegetables for the salad. We all sat on
pillows and rugs on the outdoor porch and watched the sunset as we filled up on
our barbeque goodies.
Just as we all
were reaching the brink of full – the clouds burst open and pummeled us with a
cold rain. It hadn’t rained all summer, so the cold wet weather felt
refreshing, if inconvenient.
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| Ali doin' his thing. |
We headed inside for desserts and candlelit storytelling (as
the power in the tiny village went out).
We headed home just before nine, stomachs full, cameras filled with
great pictures, and everyone happily damp. My favorite stories are always ones like
these – food, friends, and very beautiful scenery.
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| Another shot of the beautiful scenery, taken by Greg |
Antalya Olive Oil Dip
Here’s the thing. The metric system has me all confused
here. So my recipe directions are going to read like more of a suggestion rather than
any real measurements of anything. This is a very easy crowd pleaser, so try it
next time you have extra bread (or as a dressing for chicken). Also, be
creative and throw other stuff in here. Tell me what works and what doesn’t.
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| Dish may appear larger in real life. |
Ingredients:
- One
cup (or a cup and a half) of olive oil
- A
half a bulb or garlic (no need to press it, just slice it finely)
- 3
spoons of Herbes de Provence (dried basil and thyme is a good substitute in a
pinch)
- A
thumb-sized amount of fresh dill (chopped fine)
- Onion
salt to taste
Put the olive oil in a skillet on simmer. Throw in all the
garlic at once. Let the garlic and oil mingle together. The goal here is to warm the olive to a soft bubble. Don’t let it boil, because it will burn, and your
kitchen will be filled with smoke, and your house will smell like leather for
an hour. Once you have achieved soft bubble status, toss in all the herbs and
the dill and onion salt. Enjoy the sound of the sizzle of the fresh dill. That
means it’s going to taste awesome! Stir everything to and fro in the skillet
for a minute or two. Turn off the heat and let it cool for five minutes or
so. Serve in a bowl with bread or drizzle over prepared chicken. Afiyet olsen!
Mussels
Loren grabbing a quick bite of Antalya’s favorite street
food (fresh mussels cooked with rice and spices and a spritz of lemon) after a
pub stop.
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| Loren following up a bad beer choice with a great snack choice. |
Khofener's Brew Pub
Greg found a brew pub! I swear, he has a gravitational pull towards all things beer (which is a handy skill that I admire and benefit from). Khofener's, located on the other side of the Gulf of Antalya from where we live, is a restaurant and pub that brews a great selection of hoppy offerings made on the premises. Greg also vouchers for the chicken quesadilla. I was so happy to have a beer that didn't have the aftertaste of Bud.
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| Our first brewery in Turkey! |
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