GOOOOOOOL!

Yesterday night, I went to watch what is the equivalent of a Raiders vs. Chargers game. Except this time, it didn't drag on for four hours and I wasn't seated next to pot-bellied men in a crowded sports bar. And it was a soccer game, (or match as I am constantly reminded by my friends.)

In Turkey, soccer is the sport of choice. So each major city and even minor one, have their own teams. In Istanbul, there are three major teams: Galatasaray, Fenerbahçe, and Beşiktaş. There are smaller teams in each neighborhood as well, but those are the giants. They've been around since 1900, so it's safe to say, they are well established. Within each family, there can be numerous supporters of each team. Take mine for example. My cousin religiously supports Fenerbahçe, while the other cousin and my uncle are a fans of Galatasaray. My brother, I guess trying to go for the middle ground, is a supporter of Beşiktaş.

These "differences" in our family can actually make things quite tense and awkward when it comes around game time, especially between the Galatasaray and Fenerbahçe fans (these two teams have the biggest rivalry.) For example, my Fenerbahçe worshipping cousin refuses to invite my Galatasaray loving uncle to his apartment to watch the game.

We've all come to accept these idiosyncrasies though, and everybody ends up having a good time.

Moving on,

Sunday was the big match, Fenerbahçe and Galatasaray. My friend, Can S, invited me to watch the game on previously mentioned Karaoke night. So with my brother in tow, I set off to Ataköy to meet up with my friends and watch the game. I should mention that no girls attended, because that is the sad state of things (a post on that later.)

My father and uncle, out of the goodness of their hearts, decided to drive us to Ataköy, which is about a 7 minute ride in the car, and 10 minute on the mini-bus or dolmuş. Unfortunately, neither my uncle or dad knows what Ataköy looks like at night, so we were a bit lost. I called my friends, confusion ensued in the direction given. I could hear my father getting annoyed by the minute, so I told him to let my brother and I off; we could walk and meet up with my friends. I opened the door before he could change his mind, and off we were finally. I called my friend and our conversation went something like this:

"Alo?"

"Hey, Can, it's Alia. So my dad dropped us off at the taxi station, how do we get to the place from here?"

"Okay, okay, wait. *Laughter heard in background* Just wait. We come get you." Phone line dead.

My brother and I chat relatively excited and nervous. We look around, inspecting every passerby. 4 or 5 minutes later, my phone rings.

"Hey Can."

"Hi, Alia, okay. We are coming. But turn left at the taxi station and walk. We are walking towards you."

Me, thinking: "The road doesn't turn left."

Me, talking: "Oh, okay... Do you mean right?"

Phone seems to be fumbled around, new voice over phone: "Alo, Aliye?"

"Hi."

"Are you facing the taxi?"

"Yes, I'm facing the taxi station. Am I at the right one? It says Ataköy Merkezi Taksi Station."

"Okay, yes, yes. Go to the left of the taxi station. Left at it. *Laughter*"

"Alright, I'm walking. To the left. I think."

"Okay, okay, don't worry. We are coming. You will see us."

"Okay, yes. I'm walking."

"You went left? You will see us."

"Yes, yes I went left." To my brother: "Do you think we're going the right way?"

A few minutes later, we came across a group of boyz from my school. After the awkward initial wave, and the informal introduction of my brother, we headed towards some place called the Kultur Klubu or something like that. I think it was a place for all attendees and attendants of Kultur schools. We all crowded into the bar stools. I ended up sharing seats with Yigit, who has the unfortunate habit of constantly bouncing his leg, and my brother. I ordered myself a water, a coke for my brother, and proceeded to watch the game.

The match itself was relatively exciting, although Fenerbahçe did seem to be playing better than Galatasaray. But that's neither here nor there. After clapping, a little bit of yelling, and standing up on my seat, the game ended. My brother left halfway because he was tired, so I was on my own for getting home. It was about 10:15 or so when the game came to a close. We walked out, and I called my father to come pick me up. Of course, I was unable to reach him.

Trying to look cool, and know what I was doing, I followed my friends, desperately trying to reach my father. I could have taken a taxi, but I figured it'd be easier (not to mention safer) for all parties if my dad came and picked me up. Little did I know that I would regret this situation.

First obstacle, where should my dad pick me? My friend Sercan solved this one with Cumihuriyet (I know I slaughtered that one) Lisesi, a big highschool in Ataköy close to where we were. I was finally able to reach my dad, tell him the meeting place, and congratulate myself on a job well done. He said he'd be there in 5 minutes.

I should have realized that 5 minutes in my family is equal to about 15 or even 20 minutes normal time. I should also have realized that my turkish friends would wait for my dad to come pick me up, and not just one. All 10 of them. Sigh, those chivalrous fellows.

So here I was waiting for my dad, with 10 or so turkish boys, some of them not so sober, at 10:30 at night. Did I mention they had an exam in the morning? I was terribly embarrassed, to say in the least. After 2 frantic calls to the father, he arrived 15 minutes after said "5" minutes. I hastily waved goodbye, and slid into the car, not so gracefully.

I arrived home, tired, but happy. I guess [turkish] boys aren't so bad after all.

Karaoke: One of the best ways to spend a Saturday Evening

Friday is always a good reason for celebration. It's the end of the work week, beginning of the weekend, and a small break in our somewhat monotonous lives.

This past Friday I experienced one of the most pleasant ways to spend a friday night: singing.

I like singing. In fact, the last sentence is probably an understatement. I love singing. I sing in the shower, in my car, and even in public (much to

the dismay of my brother.) Despite this, I'd never been karaoking before. I mean, not for realz. I did do a little bit in the Philippines, but that was in a home setting. This time, it was public. And in a different language.

My friday started off quite usual: got up late for school, almost missed the mini-bus, and barely made it in before the second bell rang. As I was sitting in first period (or ders in turkish) I remembered that my friend, Pinar (more about this one later) had told me about going karaoking tonight. So the whole day, I was on the edge of my seat, waiting till the time came for me to unleash my singing voice (I had forgotten the fact that all songs would be in turkish.)

During one of our numerous breaks, I went up to the 5th level to ask Pinar about the deets. We were to meet at 7 PM in front of school, and from there we would go to yesilkoy, where said karaoke event was going to take place.

After school, I enjoyed a surprisingly delicious meal with my friend Asli at Pizza Days. Pizza Days is a fastfood place located in Atrium, the mall across the street from my school. We talked of this and that, and had a generally fun time. We even ran into Pinar with her daddy (she just got her flu shot.) Before I knew it, it was 5:30 PM and time for me to get my butt moving. I caught the mini-bus home, and talked the parental units. They were letting me go, but only if I called them every few hours with details and etc, etc. Ah, parents. Gotta love 'em.

Anyways,

I half-hazardly got ready, not really sure what one

wears to a Karaoke "party." Should I go fancy? Casual? Fancy, but with a street edge? Finally, with 15 minutes till seven, I closed my eyes, chose a dress out of my closet, and put on my purple tights. I ran out the door, and arrived 5 minutes late, as per usual. My friend, waiting, all groaned as I finally rounded the corner to school. "Oh, Aliye."

"Nevermind, I'm here," I quipped. We jumped in the car waiting, and speedily drove to Yesilkoy.

The place we were dropped unceremoniously at was actually a place I had had dinner with my family once. Funny. Across the street lay our venue: The Green Hause. Ha.

The View From The Balcony

We climbed the 2 flights of stairs to the top of the place. It was a large room set up with a projector on the ceiling and a screen for the words to appear. On one side of the walls, there were low booth seats, covered in dark purple shiny material, vinyl like. In the back, there was a mini-balcony with two small benches and a table squished in between. My friends dumped our stuff on the opposite wall of the booths, on a medium sized table. My friends then informed me that this was actually party of somebody's that they didn't really know. I didn't ask. All I knew is I was there to party. More and more people started arriving, and the room filled up. This was going to be a good night.

Birthday Boy: Atila?

Elif and Pinar

After kissing everyone on both cheeks that I knew and didn't knew, I looked at the song selection. Finally realizing that there wasn't going to be any english sung, I surrendered myself to the idea of singing in turkish. If only my father had been there, he would have been proud.

The party got started around 8 PM, and the drinks started arriving at 8:30 PM. The lovely thing about Turkey is that people don't abuse the low drinking age (18.) With drinks in hand, people began to croon and follow on with the words on the screen. Some dancing even started. My friends tried to teach me how to dance, turkish style, but my robotic shoulders simply refused. "It's not your boobs, it's your shoulders," they would shout over the loud music. I kinda just went along with it, snapping my fingers and doing "the serving tray."

This guy was the sickest drummer.

As the designated photographer, I went around, taking pictures of the smokers, the drinkers, the dancers, and talkers, and just kind of absorbed the atmosphere. It really was lovely, floating around like Casper the Friendly Ghost. People even spoke english to me and I felt like I'd finally gotten to be, you know, turkish.

We sung the night away, even though we'd knew we'd have sore throats the next morning. Time decided that it was going home, and so we located our coats, purses, and lens caps and drove to our respective homes.

It was simply the most magnificent evening I'd had in a while.

And I love my friends for inviting me.

Lub these kidz

I know how I'm celebrating my 19th birthday...

Yogurt, My Drug of Choice

There are lots of things I like in this world. James Dean, swatch watches, old movies, notebooks, and ink pens, just to name a few. But there is one thing that dwarfs them all. Yes, even James Dean. Okay, maybe that one's debatable. Nevertheless, if one were to set an Alia trap, the best bait to use would be... yoğurt. Yes, yoğurt, not yogurt. And I don't mean that liquidy stuff that they sell in American supermarkets. I mean yoğurt, like the one Pinar or Isik sells. Turkish "yogurt," to be exact.

I don't know what they put in it. Whether it's the floral bacteria stuff or cocaine, I don't care. I'm addicted and I'm not ever going to rehab.

Why, you may ask, is yoğurt so different than yogurt? Well, first off, the incredibly creamy taste (and consequentially, high fat content) might have something to do with it. Every yoğurt comes with a thick layer of cream on top. If one proportionally distributes cream and non creamy parts into a serving, then a perfect bowl of yoğurt can be served. This bowl, tastefully sprinkled with fruit such as grapes, apples, or peaches (my favorite,) is the key to heaven.

The first bowl I tend to scarf down. On the second or even third bowl, I slow down considerably, in order for my taste buds to fully appreciate the creamy tartness coupled with the sweet fruit.

This drug, unlike most, is readily supplied by my parents. As a family, I'd say we go through about a container every 2 days or so. I eat it constantly; it's my breakfast, my after school snack, my midnight snack, and sometimes even my dinner sometimes. In fact, I'm eating a bowl as I type, and the only thing that's stopping me from getting another bowl is the fact I should be finishing this entry.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is...

It's my love, my drug, my lifeline, my everything.

At this point, I'm seriously contemplating how to ship large quantities of this stuff.

"And the Record Begins With A Song of Rebellion."

I'm not special. Special occurances just seem to follow me around.

I.E. My family moving to Turkey for the first 3 months of senior year. I suppose this plan was somewhat premeditated; my father is turkish and so why shouldn't a father want his children to experience the same childhood he had? Maybe he shouldn't when his children and wife have little understanding of the language and little knowledge of the culture associated with it.

Not that I'm complaining. Sometimes, I forget I have another home, outside of Istanbul. The people, the food, the buses, the streets, heck, even the cats, seem so familiar to me now. Almost like a true Istanbullus (to quote a favorite, Orhan Pamuk.)

But other times, I've already bought the plane ticket home to San Diego.

So I'm a little confused to say in the least. But one thing's for certain: my time here will end eventually, and why not document, in some way, this strange, but exciting move. It's not everyday you get the chance to move 6000 miles away.

And so the documentation of the daily happenings and thoughts of a culturally confused teenager living abroad begins.