Bird Watching

This post is dedicated to my mom. I vividly remember her green, cloth-covered Field Guide to Birds that sat conveniently on the engine of the two-toned van with the sliding door named Betty. Often, somewhere between here and there, Mom would let out with an excited “Bill stop the car! It’s a Pileated Woodpecker!” or some other unusual bird. On rides between Bloomer, WI and Winona, MN to watch the barges float down the locks on the Mississippi, we kept our eyes out for herons, egrets and cranes. When the Great Snowy Owl made his appearance, there was great rejoicing.


The service bus picks me up at 7:13 and arrives at school about a half an hour later.I sit in the princess seat in the front. The city falls away to tree covered hills, military grounds, a random shack with a slow stream of smoke rising from it. Packs of dogs roam the road side and fight over trash near the trees. In the fall, flocks of birds, probably seagulls, gather under a grey sky. Light reflects off their flapping wings, and the whole flock twinkles, white then light grey. Smaller migrating birds form one shifting body, dipping, swooping densely packed, then more loosely so, but never crossing an invisible boundary. About a month ago, I began to notice massive brown hawks, sentinels on fence posts and bare trees. I count them, collect the sight of them like trophies, sometimes as many as four before or after the school day. One recent morning, shortly before arriving at the turn-off, I sat trophy-less in the princess seat, but was rewarded by a group of thirty storks, resting on their way between here and there. The following morning there were seven, and then they were gone. One stork picking at the ground on his long spindly legs near the roadside is an impressive sight, a whole mess of them even more so. A friend once told me about migrating storks gathering near the Bosphorus in September, but I’ve missed them so far. Yesterday, the bus passed a mass of grey, slender-necked and long-legged birds, swirling in a widening, ascending spiral to veer off individually in an irregular line heading northwest.


I don't ask Suleyman to stop the service bus. For some reason, I like to keep these moments private.

Ashurbanipal

Recently, I have found myself becoming attached to friendly street animals. For example, in the last month, I have twice noticed a full-grown Bassett Hound wandering near Topkapı Palace, bothering the guards and getting his picture taken by tourists. Shame on who ever bought the dog and kicked him out on the streets when he got too big to handle. I certainly have no time for a dog, but I nearly took him home. Last week, I fell for a cat in the Grand Bazaar. There are a few cats I have been fond of in my life, but I've never wanted to own one. This Tom was lovely, a kind of tabby but with larger circles and stripes than normal. And he did love being petted and scratched and clearly was not aware of just how dirty he was.
It occurred to me that maybe I needed a little animal in my life that likes human contact. Don't get my wrong, I do love Shuppiluliuma, the now 5 and therefore considered elderly rabbit, but she's not comfortable cuddling. I don't like to force my animals to be what they aren't. The other rabbit, Cenk, died about 2 years ago. Unfortunately, my fish died after about 3 weeks. I suspect the rest of the same fish from the same pet shop suffered the same fate.
Long story short, although I had no plans to come home with a new rabbit, I found myself with a little, 6 week old, black fur ball in my hands. His name is Ashurbanipal after the last great Neo- Assyrian king. According to Wikipedia, his name means "Ashur is creator of an heir." There will be no heir creating in my home, as Ashurbanipal is in a completely different room than the Shuppi, and neither the twixt will meet. He does the usual rabbit things, jumps and twists, and is very proud when he manages to climb on top of the box in his cage. He also tolerates cuddling.

The Loud Princess

As most Turkish schools, the one I work in consists of a lower primary, junior high, and high school combined. While the buildings are separate entities, they are all connected to each other. To get from one to the other, you walk straight through from the ground or second (in European terms) floor. Alternatively, you can go outside and walk to one of the many building entrances. This connection causes some difficulty as there are rules that apply in two of the buildings but not the high school. For example, high school kids are allowed to use their cell phones during the school day, while thankfully, the kids in my block aren't. I never realised how very huge high school students are (were we that big at Bloomer Senior High?) nor how loud they can be. I am forever convincing high school students to go outside rather than through my block, to put their phones away and not smirk about the request, and a laundry list of other infractions.
Today, I found myself on the twisted portion of the stairs, carrying 8 dictionaries and facing the same handful of high school kids I've faced countless times, not realising there was a small army of them behind me coming down the hall. Now, many of you know I can be loud myself, and only after a minute of "no you can't's" and "yes we can's", I watched the whole group turn around and head back to their building. I'm sure it wasn't my great authority that convinced them, but rather a desire to get to where they were going and not to hear the crazy American teacher's voice.
It was only then that I realised I was wearing a tiara, a prop from my previous lesson.

More Stuff I Made

Wheeled Bird

May I present a few of the latest archaeologically inspired objects to emerge from the kiln? The wheeled bird is slimmer than those in an exhibition at Yapı Kredi last year. I haven't quite figured out how the originals were made. At least it doesn't tip over on its wheels as I thought it might.

Mice and a Spouted Vessel

Originally, these were going to be hedgehogs. Clearly, that didn't happen. These are quite small. They fit in my hand. Not all at once.

Anthropomorphic Vessel

A spouted vessel in the Louvre was the inspiration for this piece. The original has a hat, but I chopped it off of this one. It looked far too phallic.

Demendgehogs

I alternate between being very fond of these two creatures, or thinking they're just acceptable. They look a little demented, hence the title.

When You Feel Like a Complete Idiot

It was a beautiful sun-shining Saturday morning, all the more glorious because it was the first we'd seen sun in a week. I got myself up and out of the apartment relatively early, walked the 2 blocks to the bakery for breakfast, then another block or so to grab a bus to Taksim. Of course, since I was riding backwards on the double-decker bus, and even though I go to Taksim often, I had no idea where I was, so I got off the bus a stop or two too early. After 10 minutes of walking on the crowded street, I spent at least twice the amount of time picking out clay tools at the ceramics hobby shop. Back to Taksim Square to buy a paper and as usual play chicken with the other pedestrians, then head to the Metro. I took the subway from one end of the city to almost the other, then got on a dolmuş to Sariyer where I exited at Çayırbaşı. Here, I went to Anatolian Arts, a store in which you can find reproductions of Hittite ceramics, glass and ceramic pomegranites which apparently are quite popular though I prefer copper ones, juniper "rosary" beads, and other artsy craftsy things. While I was shopping for a friend's Christmas present, I stopped to pet the annoying little dog who I assume belongs to the nasty woman who works in the store. I'm not a big fan of little dogs, but it was much easier to humor this one than it was to be annoyed by it. The nasty unnaturally blonde, dog-owning woman sat at the computer and sporadically shot me nasty looks. I thought nothing of it. She's just that way. Purchases purchased, I walked the block to the ceramics studio and made a French press of coffee. I need coffee when I wake up in the morning, and just about before I begin any project before 5:00PM.


While the kettle was heating up, I for some reason looked down at my feet and realised I was wearing two different shoes.

To market, to market

Monday is market day in Nevşehir. I will never tire of a good market, and this one isn't bad at all. The labyrnthine streets are lined with awning-protected tables. My favorite part is the fruit and vegetable section. It smells of sun-warmed peaches and strawberries. There are small mountains of eggplants at 1 Lire a kilo, piles of peppers, neatly-lined pears and plump figs, both purple and green.

Some of the venders grumble amongst themselves when I take pictures. "Tourists, foreigners.." I imagine they're remarking that it's as if I've never seen a vegetable before. Others, such as the man above, are more than happy to strike a pose.

Okra

Sweet peppers

Nice to look at, but I still can't eat them.

Many of the venders heap their produce on newspaper, or leave them in crates on the ground.

The cheese market

This market is not for those with a sensitive stomach, as the animal odors that waft from the cheese, especially on a hot day, are quite strong. The cheeses are kept in open basins, in jugs and plastic buckets, either placed directly on the blacktop or on plastic crates.

Tulumu peyniri in animal skins

Some of the cheeses are stored in animal skins. I don't know how expensive they are, but the flies, I assume, are free.

More cheese in an animal skin. I think it's a goat.

Cabbage on a side street

I am still struck by the size of the cabbages. They're wider than my backside. At the end of the street, you can buy a handle-less broom in any size.

Still Life with Cabbage

Once in a while, I'm really proud of a photo, but have to admit this was a complete accident.

Popettes for 25

When I was a kid, one of my favorite meals was spaghetti and popettes. "Popette" is a bastardization of "polpetta, " Italian for meatball. My grandmother's family made these meatless meatballs because, as I understood it, they didn't have a lot of money. Made primarily of bread crumbs and eggs, they act like little sponges for pasta sauce and are quite delicious. I wrongly used to think that it was a secret family recipe until Pina, a Sicilian married to a local Turk, told me it's a commonly made dish in Italy. So much for carefully guarded family secrets.

I first made Polpettes A la Turca a few years ago. Since it's impossible to find parmesan cheese in Cappadocia, I have to make due with what I can find, and instead use Tulumu Peyniri, a crumbly but soft "village" cheese. It makes for a tasty popette, but does not go well with pasta sauce. Instead, we eat them plain, with our fingers.

Last night, we were about 25 for dinner. A group of French friends were invited, a pair of couples from Rome offered to make pasta, and Taner's wife Serpil brought her lentil soup. Somehow during the day, two other small groups of Italians were also brought to the evening table.

I spent a good portion of my day preparing the bread and cooking. Here's my recipe for Polpettes for 25, breakfast leftovers guaranteed. (Really, some foods are better the next day.) To be honest, this recipe isn't written in stone. I can never remember from one time to the next how much of what I used.

8 large loaves of bread from Uchisar Market, not nasty sliced white bread from a plastic bag.
1 1/2 kilos of full-fat tulumu peyneri. I suppose the half-fat version would work as well, but who are we kidding? This isn't diet food.
62 eggs
2 heads of garlic, or more to taste. (Normally I would use a bit more garlic, but a person needs to consider her guests.)
Olive oil, not extra virgin.

Sit in a sunny spot. Split open all the bread with your fingers so it can sit in the sun and dry a bit. Pull the bread apart to make small pieces being careful not to squish the soft inner parts. No need for bread glue. This took me about 1 1/2 hours, but the process is a kind of meditation.

Crumble the cheese with a fork and mix with the bread crumbs. For this amount, you will probably need to use more than one huge bowl.

Finely chop the garlic and add to the crumbs and cheese. Get your hands dirty, and mix until the ingredients are evenly distributed. Admittedly, it's difficult to tell if the garlic is well-mixed throughout, but I kind of like a surprise chunk of it.

Add the eggs. Get your hands really dirty and squish the crumbs and cheese through your fingers so the bread is completely soaked in eggs.

Depending on the bread and whatever day it is, you might need more or fewer eggs. The mixture, in my opinion, should be wet enough to form "meatball," but shouldn't be runny. I think the correct term for the texture is "gloppy."

Form balls of the mixture, then flatten them like a hamburger. You can make them larger or smaller. I like to make them about the size of my palm. Make sure to pat around the edges so they don't fall apart when frying.

Heat olive oil in a big pan, not so much that the popettes float in it, but enough so that the oil comes half-way up their sides. I use olive oil, but not extra virgin. It tends to break down when heated. You can also use vegetable oil, but I don't recommend it.

Carefully place the popettes in the heated oil. Flip them when they are crispy brown. Make sure they're cooked in the center. I don't know anyone who wants to eat raw-egg-soaked bread.

Serve hot, warm or rooom temperature. I prefer to eat them with my fingers, but those who are more refined than I can certainly use a fork and knife.