tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77089715535534356972024-12-18T19:32:00.076-08:00... a mad dash around Istanbul... writing a terrible novel... taking a bath in Kyoto with the Yakuza... the K-1 fighter... long, lonely walks in quiet, cold Japanese towns... the sad, moaning enka karaoke drunks... and Lovely, dreamlike Aegean hours in Bostanlı.Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-79252720057962023082012-06-22T00:32:00.000-07:002012-06-22T00:32:22.668-07:00

I try not to write anything useful for people who are living and working abroad, and I assume that's about how this entry is going to go as well. When I come across those blogs by people who profess to float from place to place while living some sort of exotic high life, I tend to feel a couple of things (apart from envy). One is that they're quite possibly lying. The other is that flitting

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-72941236774579846062012-06-07T08:29:00.001-07:002012-06-07T08:30:50.602-07:00

A few days ago I had a birthday - a benchmark. The start and beginning of a unit of time that is used to define my life. I don't actually feel badly about it even thought the number of years I've been on this earth are getting into the triple digits (that's a joke, slowpoke). Today I saw a video on youtube that was passed from someone in their twenties to someone approaching thirty to a couple

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-4293073757370140132012-06-02T04:28:00.000-07:002012-06-02T04:28:21.246-07:00

Since first getting online in the late eighties, I've probably spent a couple of years of my life using the internet, but not really for anything important. During that time I've made a few dollars on Ebay while getting ripped off on my Star Wars collection and about twenty two cents on blogging, which I am unable to find. Much of it has been wasted time. I produced some dumb fiction, wrote

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-83293325211634521912012-06-02T00:05:00.000-07:002012-06-02T00:05:00.521-07:00

It's the start of something. I just found it while looking for some paper to write a list on:                                                   &

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-56200399177637111542012-05-06T02:20:00.000-07:002012-05-06T02:20:50.528-07:00

My mom threw a baby shower for us, and we were there via Skype. I didn't talk to a single guest because of the garbled sound, but it was still nice. They played games and had cake over there, we had cake and watched the games over here. Maybe the Skype noise and sugar made me cranky because I really didn't want to go out, but we walked around and looked at people jumping over fires for a

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-50435188079272106292012-01-25T04:05:00.000-08:002012-01-25T04:05:21.929-08:00

Hunkered down, laying low, staying home, watching movies. That has been my life of late. I'm saving money. Why? I'm having a baby. American abroad having a baby with his Turkish spouse. The timing couldn't have been bettter. That last bit is not true. The truth is that I was making serious plans to leave Turkey and scattering my resume all over the world while fretting about

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-42885468174209774392012-01-07T03:46:00.000-08:002012-01-07T03:46:55.900-08:00

Buy the ticket, take the ride. - Hunter S. Thompson Today I'm thinking about retirement. That's right. Today. I've spent quite a few years living and working in various places and at various jobs. The path of my teaching career is either sideways or downward. Sure, last year was a brief upward spike, but this year I am squeaking by month to month. Teaching in America was a bust. Japan was

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-14773586620022951402012-01-03T13:02:00.000-08:002012-01-03T13:02:51.633-08:00

Teaching abroad is a good way to see the world. If you're from an English speaking country, are a native English speaker, can pass the photo test and are in the preferred age range for your chosen country, you can get there and 'see the world'. However, there's one very serious reality to consider, and that is that teaching is a difficult job. Your salary will generally allow you to live

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-2920287375051150132012-01-01T08:51:00.000-08:002012-01-01T08:51:51.507-08:00

Going global sounds good, but momentum comes and goes. Teaching means having a job and hardly ever eating exotic... or even nice cuisine. It means taking the bus at a regular time. It means not strolling jauntily around in a foreign land. But it still sounds nice, and it's better than being stuck in your home town. It's much better to leave your home town and later wish to return than to never

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-71303302854600769692011-12-31T04:23:00.000-08:002011-12-31T04:23:27.881-08:00

Try something... then fail. Realize that you're still alive... no longer afraid to try. Today I'm trying to be optomistic.... and failing a little bit, but that's ok. 2012 is just another label for a block of time, which is just a label for getting older and things happening. Still, I'm eyeing 2012 as something that can be full of promise. I want to promise that I'll zig when I'd normally zag...

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-2286655666902331932011-12-17T00:35:00.000-08:002011-12-17T01:42:29.410-08:00

2011, the year of intended change... it turned surreal and hit a wall of blind, stupid vengeance. Actually it was more of a storm of blind, stupid vengeance. For me, the moment of numb weightlessness immediately after the impact- that dull, shocked slow motion stretched over an entire summer and I'm still waiting for the full realization of what exactly has happened and what might come next.

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-63639063403890933942011-06-27T13:43:00.000-07:002011-06-28T02:36:52.909-07:00

I'm finished with Turkey.Enjoy the film guys. Then go to hell with the person who sent you.

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-321050145708045612011-02-10T07:15:00.000-08:002011-02-10T07:31:09.280-08:00

Back in America for the semester break. It's pretty cold here in Michigan... so cold that it feels unreal compared with the modicum of chill I get in Turkey.I've gotten used to being on vacation and just like I don't want to leave this warm little apartment to go outside, I don't want to go through the hassle of flying around the world with nine hours of layovers and get back to Izmir just in

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-57870775821914706422010-09-30T11:40:00.000-07:002010-09-30T11:57:20.611-07:00

It just happened again; a motor somewhere purrs down some street on a normal night, and there is a sound like a garbage dumpster being dropped. After that, the motor is silent. Sometimes there are rapid-fire voices immediately afterward, and the men at the tea shop downstairs stop playing their game. For an instant, the voices of people on adjascent balconies stop... just long enough to listen to

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-75728273774986342492010-09-26T12:09:00.000-07:002010-09-26T13:29:04.205-07:00

The truest test of your beliefs is to get yourself out of context... way out of context, and see how ridiculous it looks when other people do it. For me, major voices of those actually in politics and the paid mouths of network pundits in the American political scene began to look quaint, like plastic figures in a snow globe... or like little cars and people viewed from the window of an airplane.

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-74672499808919307362010-09-02T12:06:00.001-07:002010-09-02T12:44:02.465-07:00

I found the road to the flag at the top of the mountain... now it's not as alluring as before. I can go anytime I want. Just take the bus to Cankaya and walk past the hat shop straight north to the big flight of stairs. There you are. I'll probably go this weekend and it'll take just a few minutes.Actually, it's a pretty exciting walk... lots to pass and some good hawkers with good stuff to hawk.

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-84579288226872149612010-08-15T10:03:00.000-07:002010-08-15T13:57:05.383-07:00

Today there are sweat salt and sunscreen deposits on my shirt, my dogs are barking, and I learned how to use the metro in Izmir. It was a very, very good day that started out with on simple mission: to eat Eskender Kebabs on the Kordon with a big glass of beer. That was the simple Sunday task I set before myself to complete my day. I didn't manage it, but I managed much, much more.First off, I

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-66175013977937619712010-08-06T04:42:00.000-07:002010-08-06T05:01:13.793-07:00

The cost of the yearly Turkish residence permit is the only barrier to living here - about $600, and marriage to a Turkish citizen or proof of being able to support yourself with about 2,000 Euro in a Turkish bank.For some foreigners (like the enraged American I saw stomping up and down the halls), the cost is prohibitive, so you'd better have a good plan and a reason to stay here. Employers will

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-31412661409103289512010-07-28T13:04:00.000-07:002010-07-28T14:04:23.903-07:00

In Hollywood movies, a charming and hapless protagonist sometimes ends up in the middle of a situation - in a basket floating down a wild river, in a large crowd of people during a panic, surrounded by friendly or unfriendly natives, or in the middle of a car chase, but in the back seat. The protagonist hunkers down, using their hands over their head to show the audience that they're keeping

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-20256474189866739852010-07-16T00:09:00.000-07:002010-07-16T00:25:03.716-07:00

To a simple midwestern American searching for something to compare this place to, maybe it looked like a renaissance fair... a purpose-built, festival grounds, but without the costumed re-enactment fetishists and their false British accents. The action was real, the crowds real.... no false fronts on the buildings or the people, just winding narrow streets lined with neat, colorful little

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-12244617581387449922010-07-12T06:26:00.000-07:002010-07-12T06:35:26.593-07:00

I rode the Turkish minibus for the first time by myself - OK, I find them intimidating. Anyone in their right mind would. Hey, at least I rode in the front (OK, so the driver told me to sit up there because he was feeling helpful). Such is the life of a foreigner - a very fine line between the joy of freedom and independence and occasional total dependance on others. One minute you feel like

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-4186679229460406302010-07-07T01:32:00.000-07:002010-07-07T01:54:40.053-07:00

(this is not where I'm staying)To move or not to move? For that question, there is no choice... I simply can't stay here no matter how comfortable it is. For one thing, this is someone else's bedroom. Whatever the sleeping arrangements are when there are no guests in the house, someone probably wants to sleep in the bed I'm occupying.Also, wherever I go, I hope it is quieter than this place. Even

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-19165770051557860882010-07-02T03:39:00.000-07:002010-07-02T04:00:56.526-07:00

This is a Tofaş Şahin, a typical Turkish car. These things are everywhere. They're relatively cheap, so it's the kind of car kids might trick out with rims, neon lights, and Cadillac emblems, then drive around playing obnoxious club music. Despite this and the fact that I'm going to get tired of seeing them around, and that driving in Turkey is a dangerous pain in the ass, and that if I owned a

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-6322690504241916342010-07-02T02:12:00.000-07:002010-07-02T03:15:11.700-07:00

I've only been here nine days? During that time, I've probably learned four whole words. Learning a new language is not easy, and not many people here speak English. Soon, my wife isn't going to be around to translate for me, so it's definitely time to step up and start actively learning to speak Turkish. In Japan, it's possible for a foreigner to function without having to learn the language,

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7708971553553435697.post-59200540043572520172010-06-27T13:30:00.000-07:002010-06-27T13:34:59.271-07:00

At night, the relative silence of the city is broken by the sound of dueling ezan – the prayer announcements from the loudspeakers of the local mosques. I like them. The speakers give a little crackle and the muezzin gives their most beautiful call, trying to stand out from the others. I tried to look at a mosque during prayer yesterday, but the doorman gave me stinkeye because I looked like

Dreaming of Izmirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15846211397910062311noreply@blogger.com0