Journey to Istanbul

“Is Turkey a part of Europe or the Middle East?” I asked my fellow passengers as we waited for the plane to Istanbul. Two of them, Turks who graduated from Germany with degrees in Engineering, suggested that Turkey is a part of the West because Turkey needs her wealthy European neighbors for economic exports. They seemed to share the same view of Chris Pattern, then the European Union Commissioner for External Relations, who advocated that Turkey can solve the population problems in Western Europe through mass immigration.

Our flight got new passengers after the stopover in Bangkok. Sitting next to me were two ladies wearing black hijab. One of them told me that she lived in Trabzon, a major city on Black Sea Coast. She was going to return home after finishing her studies as an exchange student in Malaysia. She expressed her disagreement over the proposal for Turkey to join European Union. She said, “ The West and Turkey have different civilizations. Most of our lands are in Asia. But the most important thing is that they are Christians, we are Muslims. There is no way for us to integrate.”

After thirteen hours of journey, the flight finally arrived at Ataturk International Airport, named after Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, the first President of the Turkish Republic after the first World War. The new terminal of the airport was gorgeous.

I booked a seat in a new inner-city coach, and, while waiting for its arrival, I raised these questions to myself:

“What kind of people I would meet?”

“What type of dress do most women wear?”

“Will the involvement of Ankara in Brussels be a sensitive topic for religious people? Is it possible to talk about the separation of mosque and state? Finally, will I be accused of insulting Turkishness if I talk about the Armenian massacre?”

On the road to the city center, I smelled dusty air as lots of old buildings in Baroque style were being torn down and replaced by new skyscrapers. In a city envisioning to be a global financial center, the skyscrapers are meant to attract foreign corporations to set up offices, even their Central Asia headquarters. If Istanbul was characteristically reflecting the development of the whole Turkey, it would be right to claim that the country was intending to open to the world through shifting to financial industry, recruiting talents from the West and encouraging its Diaspora to make investments in its motherland.

Yet, with a large population still living in countryside, will it become “the Turkish Shanghai” - where the rich and the expatriates from Western Europe create lively social lives and are willing to pay 100 U.S. dollars for tickets of violinist Itzhak Perlman while workers from Southern and Eastern Part of the country get low-paid jobs and are unable to meet ends meet? Time will tell. Read More »

Peanut Butter and Magic

Why did I eat that doughnut? Why? What possessed me? I knew it looked sketchy, all sealed up in that plastic bag with a giant smiley face stamped on the front. My innards are so not smiling. Why couldn’t the flight attendants serve something real for breakfast? Like pancakes and peanut butter? Oh, man…I’m scared I’m going to have an airplane lavatory emergency…

I’m just going to write and ignore it. We’re going to land soon. Everything will be fine.

You’re probably wondering why I’m keeping a journal in the first place (whoever you are). Well, I’m leaving the country—leaving Urbana, Illinois, actually—for the first time in my life. I’m braving airplane rides and sketchy doughnuts to find adventure, at last. I’m off to Norway! The land of trolls, fjords, magic, new beginnings…

Oh, man. I don’t feel good. But we’re landing…

Not good.

Rushing to the lavatory while the plane is hitting the ground is much more exciting than I would’ve thought. I had to hang onto the rail and sink for dear life with my pants around my ankles as the plane bounced to a careening halt on the runway. I almost dropped my glasses down the toilet. Luckily, I feel much better now. I kicked open the lavatory door before the plane was completely stopped, made a flight attendant scream, and hurtled to my seat, where I buckled up and pretended like I’d been sitting the whole time.

It’s lucky I went when I did. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one affected by those doughnuts. When I got to baggage claim, crowds of people were shoving past each other to get to the bathrooms. I think there were laxatives in those things.

Anyway, if I’d been rushing to the bathroom then, I wouldn’t have seen the short, smiling lady, holding a sign that proclaimed, “Welcome Ellie Steelhart!”

I straightened my glasses and strode to meet her, trying not to gape. She looked like…like a creature from Norwegian lore. White hair puffed around her head like a mushroom cap. Her nose, pickled and ballooned, stretched out over a smile that reminded me of grandmothers and kindly old neighbors who bake cookies for the local kids. Only, since she looked she crawled out of a toadstool, I imagined she baked for the local gnomes. Read More »

Acting Like a Rectal Polyp Does not a Feminist Statement Make

Any good idea can get hijacked for the sake of advancing asininity, and feminism is no exception.

Back in college, flyers tacked up on the walls of computer labs read that “feminism is the radical notion that women are people.” I agree. I’ve always felt human (except for that one year when the immortal genius of Arnold Schwarzenegger had me wishing that I was a cyborg), and believe that female friends and relatives are human as well - with the right to make reproductive choices, go to college, join the army, make a decent wage, be safe from rape and other forms of assault, wear overalls and sneakers instead of high-heels and frou-frou (thought I do like me some frou-frou), and so on.

However, I have recently been told that feminism is actually the radical notion that cheating and verbal abuse are OK, as long as it’s a woman who’s engaging in both. Apparently, because men abuse women, it’s morally defensible for a woman to abuse a man. It’s called “subverting the dominant paradigm” and any woman in a heterosexual relationship is entitled to it.

So, let’s wrap our minds around this illustrious bit of logic: abuse is a bad thing, and we will “subvert” it by actively engaging in it? Color me unimpressed. Read More »

Election 2008, From the Mouths of Babes

Shockingly, my 15-year old son has recently become interested in politics. We’re not ready to take off the ski hat, cut our hair, pull up our pants, and don a coat and tie like Michael J. Fox in the 1980s sitcom “Family Ties,” but it’s a start.

Indeed, this emerging interest had me channeling Kenneth Branaugh in the remake of the movie Frankenstein, when said creature stirred for the first time and Branagh looked to the heavens and wailed, “It’s A-liiiiivvvvveeeeee!” Productive intellectual inquisitiveness in the teen male must always be encouraged, no matter how flickering the flame. Words must be chosen carefully so as to gently fan that flame, rather than put it out.

On primary nights, the lad has asked me to turn the television onto CNN “so we can watch the scores.” It’s not a logical leap from ESPN, I guess, and politics is the biggest spectator sport in this country, so I do nothing to disabuse him of the notion.

His comments with respect to Mrs. Clinton would sit well with her adversaries. He’s dumbstruck at how she can conceivably be trying to change the rules with respect to Michigan and Florida. “That sucks,” he says, “isn’t that cheating?”

Our discussion about Barack Obama struck me, however. Read More »

Krakow: From Communist Chic to Copernicus

The fifth most visited city in Europe is the dragon city, otherwise known as beautiful Krakow.

Its name dates back to a legend of a terrible dragon, defeated when a simple shoemaker named Krak ingeniously fed it a sulfur-filled sheep. Krak’s next success was to marry the ruler’s daughter and become Prince Krak. Modestly, he re-named the surrounding area after himself (the “ow” tacked on at the end means “village”).

In the morning, I woke up to the sound of horse-hooves on cobblestones, folk music, and the clinking of coffee cups. My renaissance windows overlooked Rynek Glowny, Krakow’s main square. Last night, I attended my friend Natalia’s 30th birthday party. Three months ago, a brown, communist-style envelope had landed on my doorstep. The invitation announced an “official and obligatory celebration” - a communist chic birthday - at Klub Feniks in Krakow. Socialist 1980’s outfits were requested. If you volunteered to stay longer, you would receive a special mention that may lead to promotion.

The décor at the club had been appropriately red, including red leather-padded walls that looked like something out of an interrogation suite. Guests were served stake tartar, complete with raw egg; others ate the polish specialty of herring in onions and heavy cream. The main course made me disavow all preconceptions about eastern bloc stews: they are delicious, not to mention the various types of pirogies that follow.

Afterward, men danced in army outfits, while women took the dancefloor in puffy skirts with shoulder-padded shirts, all under a disco ball, accompanied by Wham! and old Madonna songs. The different varieties of flavoured vodka came with ration tickets.

Feeling a bit dragon after the celebration (drank too much, those ration tickets were not enough), I strolled down to the big square. Read More »

Disliking the Demi-God: The Dalai Lama and the Cult of Personality

He’s an informant for the FBI
Whack the Dalai Lama

- The Dickies, “Whack the Dalai Lama”

Okay, I don’t actually advocate harming the Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th Dalai Lama, and don’t hold serious animosity towards him; that Dickies lyric merely seemed like a good opener.

I think the Dalai Lama is an alright guy.

I don’t think he’s the re-incarnation of a demi-god though, and I don’t think he’s an infallible sage or “the premiere moral presence of our time” (yes, I have seen this claim in print). And I hate, hate, hate the cult of personality that has surrounded him, and consequently, distorted the terms of debate over the Chinese occupation of Tibet and the issues pertaining to it.

Since I’m an advocate of self-determination (to some degree), I suppose it seems hypocritical to not throw in behind the Tibetan cause to any real extent, but that’s because I’ve done something a lot of the Dalai Lama’s supporters actually have not: I’ve read some Tibetan History. And furthermore, I’ve taken in excess of three seconds to evaluate the Dalai Lama’s wishes for a free Tibet, and realized that he wants a Theocracy that he can be the ruler of. His cause for a free Tibet is not entirely a selfless mission.

My main beef here is that Americans look at Buddhism in general, and its Tibetan subset in particular, through rose-colored glasses. This probably sounds weird coming from someone from an Abrahamic background, when all of the branches have some blood on their hands (yep, Judaism, you too). Yet, the Abrahamic faiths are re-examined all the time, while Buddhism gets a pass. Read More »

A Possible Peace Between Israel and Palestine: A Review

This is a review of A Possible Peace Between Israel and Palestine: An Insider’s Account of the Geneva Initiative by Menachem Klein, translated by Haim Watzman. Columbia University Press. 2007.

We are being driven to accept the two-state solution as the only way to solve the conflict between Israel and Palestine. The logic is simple:

Israel remains a Jewish state; Palestine is going to be independent.

The book, written by an Israeli academic who used to serve as an adviser of Ehud Barak, calls for a deeper re-thinking of the peace settlement. His vision of the future between Israel and Palestine is idealistic, but also, I believe, pragmatic. Instead of seeing peace deals with Palestinians as grace-giving measures, he urges for Israelis to treat Palestinians as equals.

Rather than dismantling all Israeli settlements, which, he argues, is impossible due to the political influence of settlers and heavy costs, he advocates the maintenance of large settlement blocs. Turning to Jerusalem, Klein believes that the division of the city should be based on the historical positions of individual religious sites, while East Jerusalem should be drawn into different districts to ensure villages close to Ramallah will be under direct governance of the future Palestinian state. Villages between Ramallah and the Old City can have their public and social services provided by third parties, for the sake of stability.

Klein portrays the failure of American involvement, which is blindly pro-Israel, as well as the danger of unilateral movement, which inevitably leaves one side bitter. He is deeply invested in the emotional aspects of the conflict, arguing that Jerusalem in particular has tremendous meaning for all parties involved. He discusses Zionism, the abandonment of Palestinian right of return, and the price both sides have had to pay in the ongoing struggle.

I recommend this book to anyone seeking an alternative voice in discussions surrounding the two-state solution.

Sleepovers: Invented By Satan

Women have an incredible ability to block out memories of sever physical pain; how else can you explain the fact that many sign up to endure labor again by having more than one child?

Surely it cannot be because children provide joy that somehow balances out the rigors of passing the rough equivalent of a bowling ball through one’s nether regions.

Children do have a way of making parents of both sexes stupid. We forget all sorts of horrific experiences we vowed never to do again. A few months pass, and, there we are, willfully signing up to do it all once more. Unlike child birth, we can’t blame it on a lack of – ahem – rhythm.

It’s just our abject stupidity.

Stupidity, of course, brings us to sleepovers. Normally such events take place in conjunction with birthday parties. Unfortunately for us, our three sons’ birthdays are a little more than six weeks apart, compressing this fun and frivolity into something more akin to an endurance test, or boot camp. Our daughter has yet to get into the mix, although that looms just around the corner, I am sure.

There have been good ones and there have been bad ones. Good ones usually mean the weather cooperates and the children can be run ragged outdoors in a controlled environment. The physical exertion generally means they will sit somewhat quietly once indoors for a prolonged period of time.

Bad ones remain hard to remember, which goes to illustrate the blocking-out thing we parents do as a form of self-preservation. I do dimly recall one sleepover where two of my charges were on Ritalin – during the weekdays. Taken off Ritalin on the weekends seemed to unleash unholy pent-up energy which they could not adequately harness. I, of course, learned this the hard way when I came downstairs at 2:00 a.m. to find one of them taking apart my computer. Read More »

Superbowl Sociology and What It Means for the Human Species

The Patriots are 18-1; a man hides his face against my shoulder, because the world had suddenly become too much to bear.

A few seconds ago, I was trying to eat two chicken drumsticks at the same time, so you can imagine how dignified I must look. And yet I am the calm center of an emotional hurricane. It is mind boggling that this has come to pass.

Last week, people were ecstatic, people were depressed. People were vindictive and gloating, people were defensive and drinking to forget. I can’t say that this was a unique situation. Much the same scene was taking place all across the country, as people celebrated and mourned the particular ending of a particular game. A game which, for my taste, involved way too many “good game” pats to way too many plump buttocks encased in metallic tights.

As a mental exercise, I have hypothetically divided the world into two groups: Read More »

“Lost”: Sublime Transcendence and… Hey Sawyer, Take That Shirt Off!

A lot of my intellectual friends (the sort of people who, with a dignified cough, announce that they do not “indulge in mass media entertainment,” and other, less extreme types) repeatedly ask me why on earth is it that I watch “Lost.”

They talk to me like one would talk to an otherwise normal girl who, for some unfathomable reason, decided to date the biggest loser in one’s zipcode - complete with police record, regular stint in mom’s basement, and the miasma of unwashed socks.

“Why, Natalia? Why do you put yourself through that?” *deep sigh* “If you need help you know where to find me.”

I’m not one of those people who’ll threaten to chain you to the couch, tape your eyes open, and force you to watch every single episode while humming “Shambala” and cackling maniacally. If you don’t like “Lost,” you’re free to tell me that you think it sucks (or, as one esteemed blogger put it, that it’s better to “take a large amount of peyote and watch Gilligan’s Island” instead).

I’m all for television democracy, because, let’s face it, I never liked “Seinfeld,” I don’t watch “The Wire,” and “The Sopranos” just succeeded in making me feel that the world is a horrible place (perhaps rightfully so).

However, I do feel compelled to explain why is it that I love “Lost.” Now that the fourth season is upon us, the doubters have come out like zombies after dark:

“Three more seasons of that crap?” “It doesn’t even make sense!”

Well, you’re right, it doesn’t. But that’s not the point. Read More »