That’s what the short, wild-eyed American man said who had stopped me on the crowded, dirty steps at the metro stop above the clogged highway. I was walking home from work with my coworker- a quiet, 22-year-old British bloke- when this man chases us up the steps calling, “Do you speak English?” with such a sense of desperation that we both turned around. His relief was palpable when he realized he’d guessed correctly. He was waving 20 Turkish Lira and holding a cell phone. He had just arrived back in Istanbul, he explained, and was desperate to contact the woman at whose home he was supposed to stay that night. He only had an American cell phone, didn’t speak any Turkish, and didn’t have any idea where he was. Speaking a mile-a-minute, he explains that he has lived in Istanbul as an English teacher on and off for the past 8 years, and is recently back to begin a new position. The look on his face when he discovered both Jon and I were new to the city was one of sympathy, understanding, and humor. “How are you finding it?” he asked, his eyes twinkling devilishly. “Hardest transition of my life,” I replied. It was then that he looked me straight in the eye and said, “This city will eat you.”
That statement accurately summarizes the emotions I’ve been feeling over the course of the past couple of weeks. Scared. Helpless. Exhausted. Anxious. Isolated. Angry. Desperate. Lost. Overwhelmed. Dirty. Confused. Unsettled.
I consider myself to be a resilient person. For those of you who know me well, you know I lived on top of a mountain, basically in the wilderness, in extremely rustic conditions, for over 6 years. I have shoveled my own shit out of my outdoor composting toilet. I have showered outside year-round. I have chopped my own wood to heat my home. I have shoveled gravel for hours in the pouring rain to get my car up my driveway. I have rescued my cat from fights with rattlesnakes. For 6 years.
But this? This is resiliency of an entirely different breed.
I had decided to begin my stay in Istanbul by staying at the Lojman, essentially a dormitory provided by my new employers for their incoming English teachers. It was affordable, centrally located, and provided, in theory, a safe, easy, place to land, get my bearings and decide what I wanted to do. I was open to living in the Lojman my entire 6 months here, but I was also open to looking for my own place either alone or with other teachers. I was just grateful to have a spot to stay that the school had endorsed. I expected this transition to be a hard one. A completely foreign culture, the biggest city I’ve ever been to, and certainly the biggest city I’ve ever lived in, major (almost complete) language barrier, distancing myself geographically from my loved ones, insomnia/jetlag, starting a new job, transitioning back into working (let’s be honest, I haven’t really worked in over a year). All of these things are, in my mind, pretty major. To NOT have to worry about the accommodation piece right away was a big relief. One less variable in my lengthy LIFE equation.
It was a nice idea….. One that unfortunately backfired. Beginning on that first Monday, I kept hearing rumors that we were moving sometime that week, but no one seemed to know anything for sure. The chain of command at the school was unclear, so I wasn’t even exactly sure who I should be asking. English Time is comprised of numerous branches scattered throughout Istanbul, each with a head teacher. There is a main branch somewhere in the city- still unclear as to where that is. I learned upon my arrival that the American woman who hired me, the Director of Education, had taken a sudden leave of absence and it was unclear whether she was coming back at all. My head teacher was getting no response from the head office to his inquiries about our hot water, heat, or potential move date. He was visibly frustrated and very apologetic. Despite his helplessness, I was grateful for his tenacity and apparent empathy. My one remaining roommate, Elise, said her head teacher basically told her to suck it up and get over it because she was just lucky to have a roof over her head.
Somehow I stumbled through my first three days of teaching. I can only imagine what my students thought of me….. I must have looked like a zombie. No sleep, no shower, minimal planning for my lessons. Incredibly, my first few days teaching didn’t go horribly. I was encouraged that I could walk in, pretty much worse case scenario, and not completely fall on my face. It can only go up from here, right?
Elise and I did finally move on Friday the 20th into an apartment in the town of Bahcelievler, which is the next town over from Bakrikoy, where my school is. It was a comedy act moving in. There were at least 6 English Time staff there, and I think three people who own the apartment building. The mattresses were brand new, still wrapped in plastic, and they asked us to not take the plastic off? They had brand new sheets, duvets, and pillows for us, which they all helped us put together. The third bedroom made me laugh out loud. It has a lofted children’s bed with an old soccer net hanging from the ceiling, ostensibly to keep a small child from rolling out? Safety first here in Turkey! Over the course of an hour, every single person in the apartment attempted to stuff a twin sized mattress up there. Every one of us failed. What size mattress is smaller than a twin? I spent some time trying to imagine the look on a potential third roommate’s face when she sees her new bedroom situation.
During this somewhat chaotic moving scene, where only one woman spoke passing English, I read and signed my 6-month school contract. Was I apprehensive? Hell yes! She explained English Time’s new Apartment Policy, replacing the old Lojman Policy. In this new policy, English time pays our full rent for the first three months, then after three months we pay 400TL if we want to stay in this apartment. Three months free? Awesome! The fine print? English Time relinquishes all responsibility for repairs or other problems. If something goes wrong, we deal directly with the landlords and are not allowed to contact English Time about it. Do the landlords speak any English? Nope. Awesome. After a few minimal instructions in Turkish, and a random, almost off-handed promise from the school staff that we would move again on the following Wednesday into another apartment closer to the metro stop, they all left.
Long story short…. We’ve been in this place about a week now. Our hot water has been in and out on a daily basis. We’ve been told every day that the internet is being installed ‘tomorrow.’ There was a bunch of garbage left in the apartment when we moved in from the previous tenants.
The good news? We have had heat consistently. Our landlords own a beautiful, lively café on the walk between my home and my school. Elise and I have been treated like princesses whenever we stop in to ask about the hot water (which has been daily). Yildez, our landlady with curly cherry colored hair actually held my hand and pet my arm one night while we attempted to work through our language barrier. We have dubbed her Cherry Mama, seeing as how she has called us her American daughters. That combined with the hand-holding and petting…. They have been very responsive in fixing our hot water heater each time we ask about it. Elise had the brilliant idea one night to pull up Google Translator on her laptop and this is now our standard means of communicating with Cherry Mama. Last night I sat with her for an hour, our table surrounded by 6-7 Turkish people all laughing at us, trying to chime in with their limited English to work us through our communication barrier. She was finally able to tell me what’s wrong with our hot water heater (or Combie, in Turkish). After each use, I need to press a certain button twice to reset it. So simple! Thanks Google! I was also able to determine that we are moving to a new apartment on Friday (tomorrow). This was just confirmed by my school about an hour ago. I kind of feel like I’m in a game of Let’s Make a Deal. I know what’s behind Door Number 1: its where I’m living now. Consistent heat. Inconsistent hot water. Minimal furniture. No internet. Plastic bedcovers. 35 minute walk to work. Door Number 2: well, that’s an unknown. I may end up with a live llama. Or a monkey. We just don’t know.
And this manner of risk is the theme that weaves itself through my experience here in Istanbul. I am navigating a crashing sea of complete and utter unknowns. I would be lying if I said I didn’t think about bagging the whole thing and running back to America. But then I would have to live the rest of my life saying that I let Istanbul eat me. I would rather end up with a llama.
