Esoteric Decisions in Istanbul
It is the little things that make me crazy in a foreign country
As a new resident in Turkey, some things have always confounded me for the past thirty-plus years of traveling to and from the U.S. Now that I live here, these little things have increased to concerns of a substantial proportion to an American who doesn’t want to offend.
Why am I worried about offending? I’m new here. I am a Southerner trained in manners, and even though I ignore most of what I learned in the U.S., I can’t do that here. One day, they will all know I’m a little different and accept me as I am. But at the moment, these are first impressions that will last a lifetime.
I preached this to my kids, so it’s time for me.
Shorts or No Shorts
For those of you who know, go ahead and laugh and roll your eyes. For those who don’t, this is the problem: I always have to think about where I’m going, and even if it’s over 90 degrees outside, there is still the question. Is this somewhere I will feel uncomfortable wearing shorts? A sleeveless top? I never think about this anywhere in the U.S., especially in Miami. But here? I have to think about it.
Our farm is very close to conservative villages scattered outside a larger city. Most women are covered in some way. Their clothing covers most of their arms and legs, and their hair will be covered. I think many times, this isn’t part of a religious practice but more of a cultural norm. I don’t practice anything concerning religion, so I stick out as an uncovered graying blond in the land of dark brown hair. In the villages, I stick out even more.
I’m lucky because most of the villagers I interact with are family, and they love me no matter what. But shorts? Nope. Not in the villages. Not even Bermuda shorts. I get away with it in Istanbul easily because most women dress and act similarly to what I’m used to. Istanbul is similar to the New York mega city vibe, with an ultra-mysterious and historical overlay. You see everything every day.
So heed my advice. If you roam around Türkiye outside the beach resorts and the city, leave the shorts in your suitcase when you are in the villages. Even if you don’t, no one will say anything. But you should. It’s a respect thing.
Don’t squish the leftovers please
Turks love tea time and don’t limit it to the five o’clock hour. My husband knows my American rule of knowing when people are coming over (to be prepared and have time to answer the “shorts question” depending on the visitors) and does his best to corral his Turkish friends with this rule.
While I don’t do “kitchen,” I can do an appropriate tea after all these years. So why is it different now that I live here?
After our mid-morning tea last week, I put the desserts in the glass Pyrex storage container, and the lid didn’t quite fit. The desserts ended up a misshapen mess. Okay, they are leftovers, you say. What is the problem? Because we got a call for another set of tea visitors the same day (some Turks won’t follow the rules.) Even if they taste great, squished desserts are the ultimate no-no. That means going out to the patisserie (I’m lucky it’s just down the street) and getting another round of pretty desserts before they arrive.
Nothing fits
The sizes outside of America are different. Any female who has ordered from Amazon to get Chinese clothing, even if you looked at their size chart, has received clothing in the “correct” size. Everything ordered will only fit an elf. That is the way Turkey used to be. Everything was too small the first time I tried to purchase clothing in Istanbul. I had to find the female equivalent of a big-and-tall men’s store to find anything to wear, and I’m only 5’5”. Yes, most Turkish women are somewhat shorter but not necessarily more petite.
Usher in the new sizes this year. I was expecting the same problem when shopping, so I was happy that the clothing wasn’t too small. But I had the reverse situation. Everything was way too big. Then I looked at the tag and realized that what fit me now was a small, not an extra-large. I went to another store and found the same problem, so it wasn’t one store.
Next, I went to my favorite chain store to see if that had changed and found my standard size. But what changed? In examining the international size charts, I’m guessing that Turkey finally came into the twenty-first century and now follows the European size charts.
We’ll find out this afternoon when I try to find a bathing suit. (Okay, girls, let’s roll our eyes in unison this time.)
There are not enough words
My Turkish vocabulary doesn’t have enough words to express how I feel. I learned Turkish twenty years ago, then promptly forgot it. Starting over again has been easier, but I’m lazier this time and anticipate being fluent by 2030, especially with my haphazard Duolingo practice. I can shop, use transportation, eat out, and generally get around with my current limited Turkish. But politics? Emotions? Meaningful discussions about things that matter? Forget it.
But that isn’t the worst thing. It’s the grocery stores. Those high school cashier girls KNOW English, yet they try their best every time to twist me into knots, asking me to do things at the cash register when I check out that are way beyond my vocabulary.
I can’t wait until they try to vacation in Miami…
Do not wave
I’m from the South. We wave at everyone we meet when driving, especially in the country (whether it’s a dusty truck with hay bales in the back, a four-wheel drive something, or a clunker on its last leg.) I had a rude awakening last week when I automatically waved at another driver and was cautioned to stop. Why? Only “certain types of women” wave at men they don’t know. (And I’m not covered, and I’m wearing shorts. You get the picture.)
Rest assured, I sat on my hands for the rest of that trip.
The thousand yard stare
This is a problem mentioned by expats from all over. The Turkish women here stare; they don't back down even if you meet their gaze. Doesn’t matter the age, economic status, or location. Are they simply curious? It has happened for my entire thirty years, so I think it’s a cultural thing. Now that I’m a woman “of a certain age," only the women stare, and for that, I’m thankful.
Don’t drop your gaze. Eventually, they will tire of the game and stop.
It doesn’t rain until it does
If Istanbul has been in a dry spell for a while, I’ll help relieve the citizens around me by shopping. Trust me, it will rain. When I am loaded with something heavy or several big shopping bags, the rain will turn into a downpour to rival all torrents.
What’s the big deal, you ask? Just catch the bus. You’ve raved about how great the public transportation is. Not me. Not in the rain. I will walk two miles to find a Marmaray stop (the clean, efficient subway) rather than take the bus two seconds away from me when in the rain. Everyone and their brother, cousin, and children ride the bus in the rain.
The bus has no passenger limits, especially when it’s raining. I thought getting on a New York subway at rush hour was a problem. No. Even in the middle of the pack, I can get off the train if necessary. But on a Turkish bus in the rain? Eh, maybe not.
One evening, soaked through, I caught the bus. It was a double-decker, and I squished up the steps in my soggy shoes, heading down the aisle with dozens of others packed in front and behind me. The only way I got off? I spoke up loudly and urgently, my claustrophobia about to shut me completely down.
“Please help me; I have to get off.” An arm snaked through the crowd, grabbed mine, and pulled me toward one of the doors. The bus stopped, and the doors opened. The sea of people parted the inches I needed to get off, and I walked the two extra stops in the rain, thankful for the unknown person who pulled me off.
Still worth the effort
Living here is still worth it, even with all the little things that make me nuts. These things are simply lifestyle differences, and I will adjust.
I live in Turkey, remember? It is one of the most exciting and interesting places on earth.