A Real Happy Hour

I’ve been feeling a little bit off these past couple days getting settled before classes begin. In all seriousness, the idea of buying all the shit I need to get my apartment in order when I still don't know how the consumerist community here (like what people buy where) really works stresses me out. Plus, as a committed cheapass, I just HATE shelling out so much money at one time! Serendipitously, I had a fantastic stop in at my local corner grocery this afternoon. I’d been to Halid’s place once before for some vişne (an addictive sour cherry juice) and some pistachios, and it just felt nice. Halid is this sweet 40ish man with a full salt and peppered face of scruff. There are a decent number of Turks who have light eyes paired with dark Arab skin, and Halid has those icy blue babies. He speaks a few words of broken ingilizce strung together with immense smiles. He’s quite handsome (It’s been noted that I’ve got a thing for the middle-aged Turkish men--they’re less greasy and bald so nicely.)

The next few minutes were equal parts self-deprecating and heartwarming. I strolled up to the outdoor boxes of melons, apples, pears, garlic, tomatoes, and lemons and proceeded to carefully select my specimens. Then, a man, Mustafa (who is a family member of Halid’s...and that’s as far as I got) started poking fun at me for squeezing so many peaches. (I’m, like, 89% sure that was what was going on.) Mustafa, Denice, (another family member) and I proceeded to play the classic vocab game “What do you call it?” with my shopping fares. Mustafa insisted I try a few prime almonds, pitted me a date, and fixed me a spoonful of fantastic honey. Denice shyly indicated that I should try some of the shelled pistachios, and Halid quizzed me on the Turkish words for the items I decided to buy. I learned words I probably could have memorized if I’d been more diligent about studying my Turkish (which I am getting to...) but this way was about a bajillion times better.

I successfully communicated that I was an ingilicize hoca (English teacher) at the university, and I bought two beautiful peaches (this is the time of year for Anatolian peaches, apparently), apples, a lemon, tomatoes, cucumbers, some amazing almonds, a few dates, and some lovely honey (in a refillable jar!). At Halid’s, they keep four varieties of pistachios, other various nuts, seeds, dried chick peas, and dates in a dozen big open barrels in front of a refrigerated case of cheeses--braided cheeses, crumbly cheeses, pinched cheeses, so many cheeses! The experience made my hippy heart so unbelievably happy because I'd been totally jaded by the two supermarket type stores I'd haphazardly picked through to outfit my new apartment over the last two days. I've decided that I'm done with those big box cheap places, and I'll buy whatever else I need (namely some more food and a few basic cooking supplies) in little places nearby. I mean, I don't shop in big icky places like that in the States, so why do it here when there are beautiful corner markets like Halid's? Plus I feel like I live in a community now.

And yes, up until this point, my most extensive post so far is about grocery shopping. But it’s also about alonedom. As I was walking away (bouncing, really) with my çanta (eh? eh?!) filled with the fruits of my silly behavior, I realized that this was quite possibly the first time I had attempted to complete a sizable task on my own in Turkey. Although I adore my new fifty-nine Fulbrighter BFFs, and I am absolutely stoked to be part of the Gaziantep 7 (to 8), I realized what you really do miss out by always being part of some group permutation. In an international setting, alonedom is important because being with other Americans speaking English isolates you from certain exchanges.

I had suppressed that understanding because even though I know it’s important to go in alone (see the book Go Your Own Way), it’s dang tempting to avoid those awkward encounters by sharing the confusion with folks who speak your language. When it comes down to it, no matter how many times you’ve done the whole being abroad thing, it’s hard. And every place holds its own challenges and complexities. (A perceptive fellow Fulbrighter, Sarah, writes about that very point in a recent blog entry found HERE.)

In this Fulbright context, I feel like we quite often over-Turkify ourselves in order to appear competent to our fellow yabancilar (foreigners). As Fulbrighters, (read ‘self-critical over-achievers’) we also try desperately to be quick learners and culturally comfortable, because, well, we expect it from ourselves. My shopping experience today reminded me that being alone can be freeing from that self-critical perfectionism. When I’m alone, I have to embrace my yabanciness. I don’t try to “blend in” because, helloooo, I’m not Turkish. Instead, I get to use the fact that I’m new and clueless to bridge awkward communication barriers and turn them into humorous opportunities for empathy from which actual relationships (rather than just foreign transactions) can arise. Not to mention such a happy hour followed by a little Jack Johnson just makes me feel good.

In other news, there is a chance I have contracted a freaky skin fungus. But more on that later.

“Go to an unfamiliar city, roam the streets, there are always statues to talk to, and benches made for sitting gives strangers a shared existence if only for a minute, and these moments can be so uplifting and the conversation you get in by sitting alone on benches, might of never happened had you not been there by yourself.

Society is afraid of alone though. Like lonely hearts are wasting away in basements. ...

But lonely is a freedom that breathes easy and weightless, and lonely is healing if you make it.”

[watch: Tanya Davis “How to Be Alone”]

(On my balkon (not the man-belly kind, guys), Gaziantep)