First World Problems in the Third World

::Things that don't work outside the US::

1. Netflix streaming

2. Pandora

3. Youtube

4. Hulu

Guess I'll have to make friends in Ethiopia instead of hanging out with my BFF, the internet?

Dad, your rug guy is totally stalking me.

Just kidding, my dad doesn't read my blog. But his rug guy is stalking me. Or courting me. Or trying to sell me a rug. Or all three. I like attention and textiles, so it's a workable relationship.

My parents came to Turkey last summer on a cooking tour. My mom came home with several new kebab recipes and my father with more rugs than floor space in his house. When I decided to stop in Istanbul on my way to Ethiopia my father offered to send some emails to acquaitances he had made in Turkey. After much online research I had selected what I thought would be the best hotel for me- only to learn that of the hundreds of hotels in Istanbul, this was the same one my parents had stayed in over the summer. It turns out that my dad's rug guy also happens to be the owner of the hotel. A few emails later and I had secured a room at the hotel for a reduced rate and was assured they were awaiting my arrival.

When I did arrive I was surprised to find that the guy at the front desk already knew my name. I didn't think too much of it, or think anything at all after my red eye flight. I was shown to my room and immediately crashed for several hours. When I woke up the guy at the front desk told me that Hamit, the rug guy/hotel owner had stopped by to see me. It wasn't until the next morning that I was able to piece together that I was the only guest at the hotel and that's why they were so sure of my name. It seemed a little strange until they walked me to breakfast at their neighboring hotel, then it seemed really strange. The sister hotel was entirely booked, and my hotel really was just that "my hotel". As in, I come and go as I please and there are full-time doormen and housekeepers. At the sister hotel I met Hamit, who showed me to breakfast on the terrace. I thought he was just showing me where to go, but it turns out he had been waiting to have breakfast with me. After breakfast I mentioned I wanted to go to the Topaki Palace, and he walked me there, told me where to have lunch and suggested I come to his shop for tea afterwards. After the Palace (which was awesome!), I blew off his suggestion to come back to his shop and went on a quest for shoes that wouldn't get me stopped on the street and asked what was wrong with my feet (apparently the Turkish don't understand my Spanish Ace bandage shoes either). This quest ended up with me in a mall in the suburbs, only to later observe that Converse are sold on every street corner in Istanbul. After an adventure on public transportation, I made my way back to the city and wandered through the Spice Bazaar and a few other tourist attractions. I spent the night in a tea lounge, drinking beers, smoking a hookah (or nargliegh as the locals call it) and losing backgammon games to the guy who works at the front desk.

This morning brought a mild hangover and the ill-effects of only three hours of sleep. After a lovely solo breakfast on the terrace, I came back and crashed for a few more hours. I woke up to an email from my mom, "Watch out for Hamit; he can be a very persuasive man, just ask your Dad! " I was beginning to get the feeling that my dad had really done something to win his favor. When I really think about it he is the most soft-spoken and least aggressive of all the Turkish men I have met thus far. In a classic "blowing off my mothers advice" move and feeling bad about blowing off Hamit yesterday afternoon, I decided to stop by his store. After tea and chatting I pulled out the photo I had of an inspiration rug. He the began pulling dozens of rugs from piles that almost reached the ceiling in his tiny (maybe 6' *12') shop and laying them out for my inspection. Having no real home to envision a rug in, I was shooting from my hip. What I did and did not like is really subject to my current whim. I picked a few favorites from the ones that did strike a chord with me. It wasn't until we started talking prices that I realized all the ones I really loved were at least twice what I'd budgeted for my homeless carpet. It wasn't til I was safely out of my price range that I got to feeling really lavish and picked out two rug that were much bigger and more expensive than I'd initially envisioned and even re-envisioned. Not wanting to make a rash decision and pick between the two, I decided to try to work my way out of the situation and come back tomorrow.

It kind of worked. Somehow me leaving turned into me leaving to go to the German Hospital on the other side of town with Hamit. He suggested that I could go with him and check out the neighborhood near the hospital- known for being the hip center of town. As we got closer to the hospital he convinced me to come with him while he dropped off paperwork and he would show me around. Being a public policy/health geek, I decided it would be interesting to come see the hospital. The hospital rivaled some of the nicest hotels I've ever been in. After waiting for half an hour or so for his paperwork to be completed, we walked through Beyoglu, a neighborhood that winds down the hillside. We stopped for coffee and I inquired about something on the menu called "chicken breast pudding." Big mistake. After a quick exchange with the waiter in Turkish, it was delivered to me for a special treat. Kind of like an especially glue-like gelatin tasting of cinnamon and chicken. We wound up our afternoon wandering through the spice market, walking across the Bosphorus on bridges crowded with old men fishing for sport and profit and Hamit telling me about his childhood as a nomadic tribe member. A priceless afternoon. Or maybe an afternoon worth the price of a rug?

Fitting It All In

One of my favorite things about traveling is packing. Not just packing for like a long weekend away, but packing for multi-country, multi-climate extravaganzas. And I'm totally vain and prefer that it isn't immediately obvious from my appearance that I dressed out of my backpack.

The adventure I'm about to embark on will include:

-winter in NYC

-winter in Istanbul

-the beginning of the rainy season in Ethiopia

-the end of the rainy season and resumption of the heat in Tanzania

-end of spring in NYC

-beginning of summer in DC

I also refuse to bring more than one bag with me; must have room for plenty of textiles on the way back; and on the way there I need to make room for the $35 worth of granola bars, fruit snacks and trail mix I bought last weekend (yes, the Trader Joe's checker did give me that look that silently expressed concern/disgust with my nutritional habits and/or cooking skills). I will be living in a hotel in Ethiopia and don't want to rely on hotel food meals three times a day.

In order to minimize the space that some essentials are taking, I went to Lush to load up on beauty products in bar form. I'm now on day three of a shampoo bar/blow dryer free hair style test run. Results are not pretty.

Other newly-acquired essentials include two pairs of Action Slacks and a black fleece. In my opinion a black fleece jacket is a dangerous clothing item. It's so practical! It works in a variety of weather situations. It's the kind of thing I will wear constantly, but it's never fashionable, flattering or exciting. Others feel similarly about my new black flats with a wide ACE Bandage strap across the arch of the foot, though I maintain that they're a Spanish brand and my loved ones just don't understand such sophisticated style.

I was second-guessing my new shoes and contemplating switching them out for something more neutrally appealing until I read an article on the ethics of collecting data with orphans and vulnerable children internationally. The article talks about how what seems like simple data collection can bring up sensitive subjects for children and one example they gave was collecting data on whether or not children have shoes. It suggested silently noting whether the interviewee was wearing shoes or not rather than directly asking them. This guideline helped bring it all home for me- why I'm going to Ethiopia and how very unimportant it is what my shoes look like and how very fortunate I am to have a choice of shoes to bring with me. Though I'm struggling to make the best clothing choices and make everything fit in one bag, it's a luxury that my wardrobe is bigger than my backpack. And this is just the tip of the iceberg of privilege that I'm about to confront. Watch out.

(Even so, I promise that there will be still be some of the regularly scheduled First World naval gazing on this blog.)

It's Called A Garage

This place is advertised on Craigslist apartment listings as a "two-level space with a roll-up door". For $1,650.

Alternate Forms of Discipline

You know that school of discipline that thinks you should let your kid eat as much candy as they want, until they get sick? Then they won't be as interested in jujubees or whatever the offending substance is.

I feel like I'm being put through one of these exercises right now. Except with crafts. Woven textiles. Lots and lots of textiles. My current room has more handwoven goods than the average Central American craft market. And I'm not exaggerating.

What's new with me you ask? Well, I moved into a dead woman's apartment. And/or am living with a dead woman (or at least her spirit), depending on your outlook on these things.

My particular hostess owned a weaving cooperative in Guatemala. She would regularly bring back goods to sell in the United States to benefit the civil war widows who wove them. When she passed on a few months ago, she left behind a few thousand yards of woven huiples, cortas and other traditional Mayan wares.

I've always been a sucker for this stuff. I'm the girl that has to bring an extra bag for all the baskets/tablecloths/vases and crafts she accumulates abroad. I'm also wondering if the fact that I had to carve an emergency exit path through the crafts will break me of this compulsion by the time I leave for Ethiopia?

Oh, BTW, I'm going to Ethiopia! ETHIOPIA! This is a really good thing. I've gotten a few raised eyebrows and questions of my sanity. But if you know me well, or at all, you probably: A) Already know I'm going (because I haven't been able to shut up about it.) B) Know that this is something I've wanted for a really, really long time. And C) Question my sanity on a regular basis, anyway.

I'm going to work for that woman I mentioned as one of my personal superheros a few posts back. I also recently signed a stack of formal looking documents (some of which I made up myself). One of said documents stated that I couldn't publish info about my (new) dream job on the internet.

So, in summary: I leave for Ethiopia on March 21st. And, because I'm such a brilliant contract writer, I will be in NYC for a week beforehand meeting with all kinds of important people. But also, mostly, hopefully, meeting with you fine people. In a bar.

Freshness

Things that should taste like mint:
-Mojitos
-Toothpaste
-Some chocolate covered candies (Junior Mints, Andes Mints, etc...)
-Gum
-Ice cream with chocolate chips
-Girl Scout cookies

Things that shouldn't taste like mint:
-Lamb
-Jelly

The Anti-Love Love Poem

This is another post where I brag about how awesome and talented my friends are.

Joanna and I went to grad school together. And we went Ghana together. And then Guatemala. And then we got bumped off a flight and ended up in Panama together. On the flight down to Panama, Joanna and I (well, almost entirely Joanna) wrote a rap about the midwives we met in Guatemala. Joanna also kept me in supply of Dramamine for long chicken bus rides, covered me when I lost my ATM card midway through our trip, hiked to the top of an active volcano, didn't object when I slept 12 hours a night on average, and performed any of her poems that I wanted to hear on demand.

In addition to being an amazing travel partner, Joanna is also an uber-talented, award-winning slam poet. While I'm still struggling to wrap my mind around an experience, Joanna has already put it into words and turned it into a piece of art.

As an antidote to my internet boyfriend's poems, I thought I'd share one of my favorite poems written by Joanna. You can find more of her work here.