they are the champions, my friend.

“Let’s get ice cream,” Alessia said one night while we were roaming around in Bodrum, Turkey. The food in my stomach from dinner had started to move a bit, making room for ice cream, so I said, “Sure.” We walked down to the nearest ice cream parlor, bought a couple cones of our favorite flavors, and started to walk down the street again. Alessia took two licks of her ice cream and looked at the cone with the same sour look she gives a lot of foods.
To tell you the truth, I had predicted that face the moment she brought up the idea of ice cream.
"This is horrible." she said.
“Alessia, you come from the country with the best ice cream in the world. This is what ice cream tastes like in the rest of the world.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, this is pretty typical.”

Even though my taste buds have become accustomed to Italian gelati (there are two places less than a 3 minute walk from my apartment), I can still appreciate just about anything that falls under the category of ice cream.

It’s the same thing with other things too. I wanted to visit Ephesus in Turkey. It was a day trip from Bodrum and was relatively cheap. Alessia went last year so she said she didn’t want to go again.
“It’s not much to see."

“Well, I’m pretty sure I still want to see it. I've never seen anything like it.”

"Yeah, you're probably right. You should see it. It's hard for me because there are better ruins in Italy."

What is it like to be a person who grew up in a country with so much history and “the best” of everything? What is it like for these things, that are so breathtaking for the rest of the world, to become normal? Does it make it difficult to appreciate anything that’s not as superior?

My friend Roberto grew up in Rome. His university was less than a minute from the steps of the Parthenon. He used to sit and eat his lunch on the fountain facing the Parthenon.

As I examined the interior of the Parthenon for the first time, I asked Roberto, “What’s it like to grow up with THIS in YOUR city?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, “I’ve never known anything else.”
(Here's where it'd be cool to say that he has an odd obsession with parking garages and fabricated homes, that he's most-impressed by those things, but to my knowledge, he doesn't.)

---
Alessia said she doesn’t understand why a lot of restaurants abroad, as in outside of Italy, don’t know how to make a good pasta.
“Pasta is so simple,” she says.

“It IS so simple, “ I think, “How can restaurants screw it up? Silly restaurants.”

Of course, I don’t recall ever eating a bad pasta in a restaurant...
She goes on to describe to me the process of making a good pasta.

“Have I ever made pasta for you?” she asks.

“No.”

At this point I recall having made it for her while we were working on a project together. I also recall her plate not being empty at the end of the meal. I just thought she wasn't hungry.

“Well, I need to make pasta for you,” she says.

But then I wonder if I will even be able to tell the difference between her pasta and something inferior (like mine), but I honestly don’t think my taste buds are sophisticated enough to know if she uses table salt or rock salt.
(cause she says it makes a difference.)

And that's actually okay with me.

I had the time of my life

Somehow the movie "Dirty Dancing" (circa 1987) became the theme for my summer 2007.
I did not plan this, the events just began to unfold.
July 2, 2007: "Will you Still Love me Tomorrow" by the Shirelles is chosen by Pete for our Americana bash playlist. This invokes in me a craving for 60's dance music.
July 4: I carried the watermelon...home from the supermarket to the Americana Bash.

July 5: Late night computer work + 60s dance fever causes me to download the Dirty Dancing Soundtrack from Itunes.
Later on July 5: My curiosity about Patrick Swayze's single "She's Like the Wind" leads me to an unplanned YouTube break. The first line of this song is "She's like the wind, through my tree..." I know the video must be fine entertainment.

Further "research" leads me to this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l7ShNpH1Fj4 (sorry, it couldn't be embedded)
porcelain dolls + lighting + Swayze = Best video on YouTube
August 15: While in Ephesus, Turkey, I meet a dancer and a singer who are currently in the cast of the stage show "Dirty Dancing" in London. Coincidence? I think not.
August 26: While participating in all-area-bike ride in Switzerland I pass a karaoke group singing "I Had the Time of my Life." The song invigorates me...I cycle on...

Bubby marries Bubby

I had the pleasure of being the only American accomplice to the civil wedding of Leslie and Swiss Chris Haedinger in Arbon, Switzerland. Their church wedding will be in October on the same day as my best friend's wedding so I won't get to be there, although it's only a 5-hour train ride from Milan. In Switzerland it's necessary to do both a civil wedding and a church wedding. Most people do both weddings on the same day or within a few days of one another, but they did their civil wedding early for visa purposes...gotta get Swiss Chris to the States by November.

This "get-away vehicle" took the newlyweds (and the rest of us) across the border to Germany for din din.

This is how the Swiss do it up.

"Cin Cin!" as Italians would say.

That flower was edible, and I ate it.

delayed thoughts from England

another lingual boo boo...
The word "pants" in England corresponds to the American word "panties."
This caused trouble for me, as I often said things like:
"My pants are wet," during a rain
and
"I have sand in my pants," after a walk on the beach.
Phrases like these seemed to bring shrills of laughter from the Lauren.

Star Search Istanbul Presents...

With much prodding from Ale, Ips, and the man with the microphone, TQ steps forth for her 15 minutes of Istanbulli fame. (I get embarrassed when I watch this, but I'm going post it anyway. It's all for you, folks, all for you.)

the Quirky Turkey

One word: VARIETY. NO, we did not eat here.

I'm not kidding when I say the Turkish love the letter "K"

Posing at the Sultan's palace. Sultry.

For bays and bayans of all ages...Advertised as "Modern Toilet" with arrows pointing in its direction 50 meters before, this toilet cost a whopping 1 Lirra to use (1 USD=1.25 Lirra).

Back of an Istanbulli mini-bus

The sentence just before the conception of this idea,"So...we have 400 dolls, 300 units of various piercing jewelry, and some gel foam stuff leftover...what should we do with it?"
who the target market is for these little monsters is a mystery to me.

Another way of saying this is "Real Imitation".

beach scene: Bitez, Turkey on the Aegean Sea

Five times a day prayers are said over the town's speaker system.
Yet nothing could seem to contrast more with the surroundings...
a beach full of people at leisure.
Kelly Clarkson blasting from the seaside restaurant directly behind us.
People play on, barely noticing.

I bobble around in the salt water.
enjoying my newfound buoyancy...
gazing at the colorful umbrellas on the seashore.

Four tubby, blonde British tourists laze about on the deck chairs in front of us.
They haven't moved all day except to turn their bodies over in order to even their tans and to sit up when the waiter from the restaurant brought their hamburgers.

I contemplate cultural differences...
There seems to be a sense of awe when I tell people here I am an American. I can begin to understand this as I watch television in the hotel room. So much of it is from America, shows about people from a a land faraway that has little to do with their culture. Last night I watched the beginning of CSI NY with the eyes of an outsider, examining every character's face and thinking to myself, "That's an American,"...simply trying to understand what Alessia means when she says, "You look very American, Trish." I'm happy about the fact that I haven't run into even one other American tourist. The place is crawling with Europeans, but I'm a novelty.

I read Orhan Pamuk's book Istanbul as I lie in the sun. He paints a picture of a city in a state of corporate melancholy...living modern life in the ruins of several great empires, his words casting clouds over this perfectly sunny day at the beach.

istanbul not constantinople

Istanbul inspired within me a craving for the past, more to know it than to live in it...a city so rich in history that 3 major empires have held it.
It is my custom to go to cities and look for the heart of it...
"Where is it?" I always ask,"How do I really experience it?"
We drank apple tea (which is more like apple cider) on the banks of the Bosphorus Straight, which separates the European part of Istanbul from the Asian part.

We stayed in the 3-bedroom apartment of my classmate Ipek's family, drinking Turkish coffee every morning and conversing with Ipek's mother through smiles and thank yous.
Ipek's mom, whose Mother's name is Betty (but probably spelled in a more Turkish way) just like my mum's.

Our personal Istanbuli guide shuffled us from place to place, pushing us onto taxis (or taksi in Turkish) and mini buses with a much command as a woman of 5'0 can muster. (and daily showing us more inner-strength than I've seen in any woman of 25.)
My friends Ipek, Alessia (Italian), and I on our daily "commute" across the Bosphorous.

We visited Mosques (a first for me)...having to cover our shoulders and heads with the provided cloaks to enter.

We ate lunch at a famous restaurant that has been serving the same exact meal to every customer since it opened in 1907. (Turkish meatballs, bean salad, bread, and a nut-based cake for dessert.)
We stopped in the covered market where one can buy anything "Turkish"
with salesman standing in front of their stands trying to get our attention...
"Hello. Do you speak English? We are here." Their pronunciation and rhythm straight from "Teach Yourself English" cassettes.


We went to the Turkish bath and were clothed in towels like picnic blankets...I received the exfoliation scrub from a woman three times my width. I had precisely the reaction I predicted...silly laughter, which is my kneejerk reaction to all things that cause me minor pain. The same occurred during the filling of my 1st (and only) cavity and my first leg wax.
What I looked like in the Turkish Bath

A shot Post-bath, smoother than a baby's bum.

With the urging of Ipek, Alessia, and the man in charge, I danced in the center of a 20-person drum core on one of the busiest shopping streets of Istanbul. Perhaps beginning my career as a street performer. I felt at ease with home videos recording, pictures snapping, and hands clapping as danced. My friends were very pleased.

We dined in a restaurant that felt more like a TGIFriday's than anything Turkish. It was the most American restaraunt I've been in in the last 8-months (besides McDonald's). I had fajitas and a magarita just because I could.
Afterwards we went to see Ipek's friend play in a band at a bar. The band's songs were 100% covers of nearly 100% American bands. Each song, sung in near perfect English, was followed by a break of a few Turkish sentences, a transition that always caught me off guard.
Even with all of these experiences, as with most cities I merely visit and don't live in, I didn't capture the heart of the city. What's crazy about Istanbul is that to get to know it, one would have to go much deeper than a couple of centuries of history...and that would take longer than 3 days.

on the bus

An English woman on the bus from Scarborough to Liverpool told me I speak very good English.

I didn't respond. I just slowly looked away.
I went to Liverpool, a 5-hour trip from Lauren's hometown, simply to fly back to Milan. I didn't get to see the sites, unless you count the John Lennon Airport as part of the tour.

When I finally reached Liverpool and hopped on the bus labeled "airport shuttle" I said to the driver, "There's only one airport in Liverpool, right?"
"Well, there's the Paul McCartney." he said with a believable tone.
Luckily, I'm not that gullible. Otherwise, he might have had me running to the bus parked "just past the shuttle to the Ringo Starr and George Harrison Train Station." (They were never indispensible enough to warrant their own transport centers.)
Instead I walked to my seat, imagining how the bus driver must repeat a variation of that joke to a lot of out-of-towners.

On the ride to the airport I spotted a small, murky body of water. "Is that the pool?" I thought. That's when I realized, for the first time in my entire life how distasteful the name "Liverpool" really is. Other countries in the world use picturesque terms to describe their water-related cities...Oceanside, Laguna Beach, etc.
"Liver" is a slimy meat of an indeciferable color (between grey and brown). In my brain it's associated with Dad's "dinner suggestions" that he made simply to get his daughters riled up. (In later years he realized the reply "chili dogs" would get the same reaction from me.)
England also has a city called Blackpool. Sounds Inviting!
Onto Istanbul...

Tea Time

I'm in Scarborough in the north of England with my friend Lauren this week. (see above)
It's my first time in an English-speaking country in 8 months, but I still find myself learning new words. Here's some new vocab for you and yours
BINGO WINGS: the extra flab under a woman's arm that shakes when you raises her arm to yell "bingo!"
DINNER LADY'S ARMS: refers to the same area as bingo wings, good eats bring treats
WELL GOOD: it's not just good, and it's not just well, it's "well good" or very good
WELL BAD: it's not just bad, it's "well bad"
TURRAH: goodbye, commonly used in the sequence "Turrah, love."