April 8, 2002

April 10, 2002

We returned Sunday evening after spending our spring break in Turkey. It’s so amazing to me how close these countries are and yet are still so different. A good word to express how we felt about Turkey is, exotic. We’ve never visited a Muslim country and we’ve never heard the call to prayer ring out from numerous mosques throughout the day in its more “native” environment. Turkey is a unique exception to Muslim countries, considering it is a member of NATO and its wide-open market seems to be flooded with much more supply than the actual demand. Men far outnumbered women on the street. Kate kept asking, “Where are all the women?” The busses and trams were filled with about 90% men, and the women, it seems, were at home. The taxi drivers in Istanbul kept their windows open on the chilly days, yet kept their heaters going at full blast. The Bosphorus Canal was choppy and filled with boats, crisscrossing and passing through. Aya Sofia, the cathedral-made-mosque, is a testament to the historical clashing and mixing of cultures in this region though the Christian frescoes and mosaics, which were covered up by, and now pierce through, the dominant Islamic ornaments. Now it’s just a museum to wander and look at one of the largest domes ever built, and wonder about these two cultures, which seem to still be clashing. The people were playfully hospitable and every Turk we met was exceedingly kind to us. Even the salesmen in the Grand Bazaar, though pushy, were fun to talk with and offered to take our empty water bottles to throw them out, without expecting us to buy something in their stores. We were constantly asked, “Where are you from?” Sometimes we would respond by saying, America or Bulgaria, but by the end of the week I was tired of the question and either ignored it or said China. Some people did it to get our attention so we would enter their stores, but I felt that most people did it because they were genuinely interested who was visiting in their country. After spending four nights in an amazing apartment of a friend of a friend, who works at the American Consulate, we took a night bus out to south-central Turkey, Cappadocia. The history of the region is phenomenal and the landscape is unlike we’ve ever seen. It was rocky, hilly, and human-made caves, which were carved thousands of years ago as homes and churches, still exist and you can explore them independently or on a tour. The overnight bus trip out to the region was twelve hours and put our piddly little seven-hour bus ride to Sofia (which we like to complain about) to shame.

The whole time I was there, I had in the back of my mind all the comments I had heard said by Bulgarians about Turkey. After living in Bulgaria for the past two years and hearing so much about the Turkey without ever visiting it, it seems like it was long overdue. Some Bulgarians are still bitter about the 500-year domination of Bulgaria by the Ottoman Empire. Others are much more than bitter, and sill others are indifferent or willing to move on. Last year, one of my students refused to participate in a debate concerning the controversial 10 minutes of news in Turkish, which is aired every evening by saying, “I hate the Turks.” It was clear that a statement like that from a 17 year-old girl, who had never even visited Turkey, had to have descended through many generations. So I asked the first Turk I met in Turkey, who spoke English, what she thought about Bulgaria. Her response was, what happened many years ago has passed and she has no control over it. In fact, she said, the Bulgarians did something cruel to the Turks who lived in Bulgaria. About twenty years ago, under Communism, the Bulgarian government forced all Turks living in Bulgaria to change their names to Bulgarian names. It didn’t go over too well. Besides, Communism didn’t last long enough to make it stick. Certainly not all of my students share the same feelings as the girl I mentioned. In fact there are many students who are good friends: Bulgarian students with family names like Nikolova, can easily be seen sitting next to and giggling with, students with Turkish family names like Hussein. Last year, one girl came up to me and wanted to know how I felt about being a foreigner living in Bulgaria. Ummm, fine, I said. It was still early in the school year and I hadn’t yet formed my opinion. But she felt an immediate connection with me because she felt like a foreigner too, because she was Turkish and spends her weekends in her Turkish village, south of Silistra. What is it like there? I asked. Very different, she said, it’s just very different. She couldn’t really find the words to describe it. This northeast region of Bulgaria has many Turkish villages like the one she described.

The old and failing mosque in our city center isn’t used anymore and the windows were replaced and it was given a mild facelift shortly after we arrived in Silistra two autumns ago. About two weeks later, the windows were broken and there was graffiti on the door, which included a swastika and other degrading words, both in English and Bulgarian. The minaret still stands tall and the mosque itself, unless demolished, will probably exist among the stores and banks for another thirty years or so if no repairs are done to it. At that time, it will probably start to just fall down. At the moment, it serves no other purpose than an eyesore because of the broken windows and the painted-over graffiti. After the vandalizing, I saw people stop and stare in disappointment at what had been done. Another student, from another class, who also participated in the Turkish news debate, brought in pictures of the vandalized mosque to support her argument for tolerance.

So we’re back in Bulgaria, after our last trip and into the homestretch. We’ll be heading home in about ten weeks. We’re waiting for spring to really kick and get this cold weather out of here. The leaves on the trees are confused. A few weeks ago it was warm and sunny and now we’re trying to get through this cold snap. We can’t wait to turn off our heaters for good!

-josh