Better Know a Turkish Smoker (Part 1)

A supermarket is a supermarket, wherever you are in the world these days. A mall is a mall. And a hypermarket is a hypermarket is a hypermarket. But one thing is remarkably unique about the Carrefour in Bursa. It has an escalator to the clouds. Yes, its true! Make your way past the shoe shops, the computer stores, the dry-cleaners, the Starbucks and you will find a stairless escalator that slides silently up to a misty summit.

However, this is no sacred pilgrimage. This moving path leads merely to the food court. A very, very smoky food court. Somewhere through the haze of smoking patrons you can see all the food you expect: the Burger King, the KFC, pizza and the food you don't: Iskender kebab. Grab a bite and sit down with everyone. After your meal, enjoy a smoke. After your meal, maybe you want to see a movie. Put your hands out and feel your way to the ticket booth. In the middle of the film don't be surprised at an intermission. This allows everyone to take a smoke break. You might notice in the cloudy corner a pitiful, little sign of a cigarette with a red line striking through it. Don't worry about that. Enjoy your smoke and if you don't smoke, enjoy everybody else's.

What? You say you don't enjoy second-hand smoke? Get used to it. This is Turkey baby.

Standing at the tables you might notice a young girl awkwardly unwrapping her Marlboros, trying to look casual as she struggles to cooly hold her cigarette. Don't laugh, she has only just recently embarked on a lifetime commitment to the pockets of Philip Morris. Turkey has about 70 million people. Nearly half of them smoke and this girl has just begun her rite of passage. Cha-ching.

Despite what you may think, it wasn't always like this. When tobacco finally reached here from Mexico via Europe the old Sultans used to ban smoking, some even going so far as to pour molten lead down the throats of anyone lighting up. Islamic law even forbade it, because the Koran said one must neither "squander" nor "make their hands contribute to their own destruction." Of course, that concern was short-lived and surely smoking was breathed new life with the establishment of a secular, European-embracing culture. Ever since, the Turks have been smoking like, well, like Turks.

They used to smoke cigarettes from Tekel, previously a state-owned company and still the majority market share-holder. They enjoyed serving Turks with their smokes under a comfortable monopoly, pricing and distributing all cigarettes -- foreign and domestic. They didn't need to advertise and they didn't even need to deliver their supplies. Mom and Pop had to go pick them up from the factories if they wanted to sell cigarettes from their shop.

Then came Philip Morris and RJ Reynolds (now Japan Tobacco International). Since the WTO has relaxed international trade on tobacco and tobacco sales have declined in developed countries, notably the US, Big Tobacco is setting their scopes on the developing world.

Faced with decreased revenue in the US, where only 23% smoke, Philip Morris began looking at Turkey. Although there were tough restrictions in Turkey, Philip Morris did what Big Tobacco does best. Lobby. With lots and lots of money. In this case, with a little help from Turk gazillionaire Sakip Sabanci, with promising millions of dollars of investment to a very needy economy, and a reform-minded Prime Minister, tough regulations disappeared. And so came the Marlboro Man with $100 million in his pocket.

Poor Tekel, not used to competition, didn't see what hit it. It was no match for a slick cowboy, a relentless marketing campaign, and state-of-the-art cigarette factories -- i.e. corporate America. Now, Mom and Pop are not only getting their smokes delivered, they are dressing for the occasion -- garnishing their shops with promotional hoopla. It's war.

As Tekel, Philip Morris and JTI battle for addiction, who are the casualties? What are the human costs of free trade and tobacco in the developing world? Where has that escalator really gone? What is the cloud of Marlboros, Camels, Paliaments, Winstons that you may or may not smoke, but that you absolutely must breathe if you want to have a social life, doing to Turkey?

To be continued...

Here ends Part 1 of a multi-part series: Better Know a Turkish Smoker

There Goes the Neighborhood...

I hereby declare this Bursa Appreciation Week! Why? Because, for once, I'm glad I'm not in Istanbul. I like to stay as far away from religious conflict as possible. Then why'd I move here from California? (scratching own head)

The pope will begin his four day visit to Turkey tomorrow. So?

Allright, so maybe you don't care. The truth is I really don't care. I just feel like I have to blog this because I'm in Turkey and this is some big event in the middle of this West vs. MidEast rumble going on. So, whatever, here's a quick rundown: Awhile back this Greek Orthodox Patriarch, Bartholomew guy, invited this Pope Benedict guy to Istanbul to talk about getting the eastern and western Christians back together. Then the Pope guy made a speech in Germany where he quoted this medieval Byzantine guy who talked shit about Islam and the Prophet Mohammed, calling them evil and stuff. The question is (or wasn't if you ask well, anybody, what exactly the Pope said, because they probably don't know): was it the Pope's real feelings or was it just taken out of context? Regardless, Turkey's Chief of Religious Affairs and cleric guy, Ali Bardakoglu, got pissed off. Then Muslims all over the world got pissed off. Then the Pope decided to come to Turkey anyway and 25,000 went out on the streets Sunday and got...well...more pissed off and said stuff like "Papa Gelmesin," which either means "Pope, don't come!" or "Papa Don't Preach," by Madonna.

Oh boy.

So tomorrow he comes to Istanbul, where the Prime Minister may or may not visit him at the airport with a "Pope Benedict" sign. Then he will go to Ankara (the capital) and meet the President and Ali Bardakoglu. On Wednesday, he'll go to mass in Ephesus, where St. John brought to Mary to be sent to heaven. Then, he'll visit the Blue Mosque and the Bartholomew guy. Hey, this actually sounds like a fun trip. On Thursday, it's to Istanbul and the Aya Sophia, once the greatest Church in the world, then a mosque and since 1935, a museum. They say if he prays and crosses himself before entering people are gonna seriously freak out.

There goes the neighborhood.

But thank (insert divine name here) for the precautions! “The security measures being taken for the Pope in Turkey are higher than taken for George W Bush,” said Turkey's Foreign Minister, Abdullah Gul. Wow, the highest security measures suggest you're hated more than Dubya. That's quite the accomplishment. Regarding the security measures, here are some bullet points, no pun intended:

*3 different routes are prepared from the Istanbul airport to the city center.
*Certain roads will be closed to traffic in Istanbul.
*12,000 police deployed in Istanbul along with rooftop snipers.
*750 extra riot police from other provinces will be sent to Istanbul for back-up.
*Nearly 3 thousand policemen deployed during the 20-hour stay in Ankara.
*All roads on the Pope's route will be periodically patrolled with explosive detectors.
*The Pope will be protected by Turkish and his own personal bodyguards.
*A vehicle escorting the Pope will be equipped with frequency-mixing devices.
*A special forces team stationed at Ankara’s Esenboga Airport and an extensive operation to scan for explosives carried out.

You know, that all seems really serious. Here, let's lighten up a little. I mean, after all, it was just something he said, whatever it was.

"There's a lot of tension in the world. Over the weekend, Pope Benedict apologized to the Muslims. Altar boys, on the other hand, are still waiting for their apology." --David Letterman


"Last week at Germany's University of Regensburg, which as you know is a safety school, Pope Benedict gave an address in which he discussed Islam's concept of jihad by quoting 14th century Byzantine emperor Manuel Paleologos II. You know if you're going to make a wholesale generalization, say it in German. It gives it that extra 'oomph." --Jon Stewart

"The Vatican has increased protection around the Pope. How ironic is that -- A Catholic using protection?" --Jay Leno

"Muslims all over the world are rioting because they are upset with the Pope. Again, I don't think President Bush understands these issues. Like today, he said, 'These Muslims, why can't they ask themselves what would Jesus do?" --Jay Leno

"In the West Bank a group calling itself the Lions of Monotheism fire bombed four churches, telling the Associated Press the attacks were carried out to protest the Pope's remarks linking Islam and violence. The irony of the statement, and this is often the case we find, was lost on them." --Jon Stewart

above photo: Aya Sophia, Istanbul

Happy Thanksgiving! (A Special Comment)

Turkey jokes aside, I would like to wish everyone a very Happy Thanksgiving. Reflecting on this world, I only know two absolutes. Neither of them are about science or religion, though people on both sides would argue their involvement. And not one of them has to do with change because some things never change. On planet Earth, there has always been poverty, hunger, violence, despair and tragedy. Pain. On the other hand, there has also been family, friends, beer, sex, goodwill from strangers, large and small acts of kindness. Pleasure.

The purpose of this day, as it appears to me, is to remember the pain and give thanks for the pleasure at home and in the world. Our tradition is to be home with our families this day and have dinner together. Unfortunately, my family is parted this year. The paths we choose don't always coincide for the holidays, do they guys? However, each of us is thankful that at least, physically, we are out there... somewhere. Our encouragement and support is with each other always, no matter where we may be. I'm thankful for this. This goes for my friends also. You know who you are.

This morning, I woke up and, as usual, turned on CNN. As I shake the cobwebs out over a cup of tea, I like the background noise of anchormen forcing puns on today's headlines. But today there was no pun. I watched a segment about Baghdad where, due to the obscene number of killings, families are flooding the morgues, searching for their lost ones. There are so many people waiting in the lobby, that the workers at the morgues can't allow the families downstairs to identify the bodies. So, they've provided video screens. Dozens, if not hundreds, are all jammed in their together watching images of the deceased, one after another. They are watching to see if they recognize a family member. Some are difficult to recognize because they haven't even been cleaned up. Once a family identifies a body, they wait out in the street with a flimsy coffin.

Waiting for my classes to start, I'm reminded of one of Ataturk's famous sayings (in Turkey, aren't they all?): "Peace at home, peace in the world." For all those aid-workers, volunteers, fund-raisers and peacemakers out there, I'm thankful for you.

For you vegans, animal-rights activists and environmentalists who see the meat industry as destroying our planet, if you are right, then good luck. It's not easy going against tradition.

The world is a painful place for all Earth's creatures, I'm thankful for any pleasure any time we can get it.

So, I lied. I'll end this special post on a turkey joke.

A few weeks ago, I was watching the football match between Turkey and Hungary with some of my Turkish friends. They were joking about Hungary's name: "Hey, I'm Hungary." "What do you wanna eat?" -- this kind of thing. As they were laughing and carrying on, I said, "If you're so Hungary, why don't you eat a Turkey?" The smiles dropped from their faces.

"That's not funny."

Happy Thanksgiving! love, Jack

Little Did I Know...

... after four desperate months of trying to land a job in San Francisco, then finally doing so, an encounter on the first day would ultimately lead me to Bursa, Turkey. I sat down in the director's office that day.

"You'll be teaching General English in the mornings and Business English in the afternoon," Gordon said.
"That's fine," I agreed. "But I've never taught Business English."
"Well let me put it to you this way. If an employer hands you a class and says this is what you're teaching, what do you do?"
"I teach it?"
"Right. So talk about cover letters, job interviews, talking on the phone, etc. Oh, and just so you know, they're going to be a little hostile because they've had a few different teachers the last couple weeks. So, just take control and tell them you are THEIR teacher and you're here to stay. No matter how much they complain. Just tell them that's it. You're THEIR teacher."

So I walked in the class and there was a mixture of silence, shock, cynicism -- but most of all -- attitude.

"Who are you?"
"Are you a student?"
"Where are you from -- you're a teacher!?"
"Another?"
"What happened to Janice?"
"Where's Eda? Is she coming today?"
"What's wrong with this school?"

"I'm going to talk to Gordon!"
"So how long will you be our teacher?"

I was diplomatic. A teacher can always say to another teacher "that's the industry," but you can't exactly pass the buck like that to a class who's ultimately paying your bills. These guys had a legitimate complaint, but it wasn't my fault. I just got here.

"I know you guys have had a lot of teachers and the class has changed alot. But I'm here and that's it. So I'm happy to be here, so let's start our lesson. Is everyone here? No? Who? Eda? From Turkey? Ok. Got it. Alright, (ahem) ... so, this is, uh, Business English. Who knows what a sweatshop is?"

Just then a girl walked in the room. She didn't take a seat. There was murmuring and snickering and I gathered that this was Eda. I felt the other students were about to enjoy this. Three observations struck me at the same time. She definitely had an attitude, she was going to cause me trouble... and she was stunning. Tall, with this long, wavy black skirt, a style I didn't understand -- something clearly foreign. Ah, she's Turkish, I remembered. She had this long curly hair. And big. That hair was big! So big and dark, the likes of which I have never seen in the US. Certainly not in my last 3 years in Asia. Those dark eyes were like two black cups of espresso because, at the time, I didn't know about Turkish coffee. Beautiful. I almost didn't notice she had gotten herself all ready to pounce on whatever teacher was in this room. However, what she got from this teacher was a big bright --

"Hi!"

It seemed she was a little taken aback and some of her intensity waned. But as I would get used to later, she never gave in easily. She said cooly:

"Look, I'm Eda and I'm going to make my TOEFL practice test in the computer lab. I'm just telling you because Gordon said I should. So, I won't be here."

"Ok," I said attempting a half-interested shrug.

Almost as if she expected more from me, she hesitated and said shortly "ok, bye" then walked out the door. I had a nanosecond to be sorry to see such a gorgeous girl leave my class -- and with such fire! I mean, I just got here. Where was she going?

"...so that's why I think sweatshops are good for a country's people," a Belgian student finished.

Where was she going? Where was I going? And just what the hell was that Belgian talking about?

Oh what little we knew.

"Why are you going there? Go to Istanbul."

I can't tell you how many astonished Turks told me this before I came. Of course most of these were young students at my last gig in San Francisco and I guess I can understand why they don't like it here. It's tough being Bursa. Three hours away from it's rowdy, rocking neighbor to the north, it is a city well known for religious and cultural conservatism, and yet paradoxically where, according to a few Turks I've spoken with, "all the gays come from." Clearly, these type of generalizations might not appeal to the average young cosmo-Turk accustomed to all night club-spelunking and cocktails overlooking the glowing mosques of Istanbul.

So, Bursa gets bashed alot by non-Bursans (and sometimes Bursans alike). And it goes without saying most foreigners who haven't visited Turkey have probably never even heard of her.

Yeah, it's tough being Bursa. Or is it?

Actually, Bursans enjoy low unemployment and a booming automotive and textile industry. Companies like Renault and Fiat arrived awhile back and have gotten the first capital of the Ottoman Empire up and running again since the days of the Silk Trade, which actually never went away. According to the Lonely Planet, "if you visit in June or September, you may see some 14000 villagers...haggling over huge sacks of precious white cocoons." In addition to cars and silk, I've been told there is no shortage of towels being created here either.

As far as the people, I'm not sure if they're any more conservative than any other town. It's hard to compare her to bigger cities like Istanbul or Izmir or Ankara, just as it is comparing Louisville, Kentucky (with roughly the same population as Bursa) to New York. What Turkey's fourth largest city doesn't have in the way of infinite nightlife or multi-culturalism, it must make up for in kebab, mineral baths, hamams, notable mosques and historical importance. None other than Osman Gazi, founder of the Ottoman Empire, established Bursa as its first capital, and is buried up in the hills in the center of town alongside his successor Orhan.

And if you enjoy a perverse amount of meat over pita bread topped with copious amounts of butter, you can't beat Bursa's very own Iskender kebab. I personally can only eat it about once every 2 months, but the locals love it as do a few of my French friends. On the next day you may as well dislodge the chunks of cholesterol from your arteries with a little ski down Uludag mountain. Apparently it's the best ski resort in the country.

Although none of the above really answered the curious young Turks in San Francisco who asked me "Why are you going there?", my reply left little room for further wonder...

"GITMFVJSEN SDFJVJOSEN!!!!"

He said.

At least that's what the driver sounded like to me. Actually,it was more like a desperate pouting from his greying head. Yeah yeah yeah. I'm coming dude. And with that he stomps off to the bus and leaves me there with the Bulgarian customs officer, who had just thrown my passport down in disgust. That was right before he walked off with it across the highway.

I would have worried a bit more had the Bulgarian woman not rushed up to me and say soothingly through her tar teeth and hoarse throat, "No problem!" She was the coach attendant-- the coach which engine was being revved up and the coach whose driver was yelling at me. That's one of the minor inconveniences of filling up your passport with stamps from around the world -- it's never exotic to baffle the border patrol.

I had just crossed over from Turkey and was headed to, well, Turkey. It was one of those visa runs you learn how to do from reading the forums on Dave's ESL cafe. We have to do it every 3 months to teach here. Some say the Ministry wants to keep unemployment down by retorting, "Why hire native English teachers at your school when you can hire Turkish English teachers?" That's a good question. I'll think about that on my way to Bulgaria and back.

I heard in Greece they want you to stay a night before going back, but in Bulgaria you can just go back immediately, which is clearly what the bus driver wanted. I was getting ready to give them some sob story about my girlfriend's in Turkey and I have to get back -- after all I'm not trying to do anything illegal. Not like the leather jacket smuggler on the bus from Istanbul. They call the highway up to Bulgaria the Laundry Line, due to all the illegal trafficking of clothes. This guy on the bus schmoozed me with a very warm polite conversation before asking me to to carry two leather jackets for him through customs.

"How many do you have?" I asked. There was no way I was gonna do it. He could have like heroin sewn in there somewhere. I've seen that movie.
"Four," he said.
"Just tell them they're for your family," I suggested.
"Yes. Tell them they for your family," he suggested.
"No. From YOUR family! Look man, maybe you can ask somebody else," I said. "I'm trying to get back into Istanbul squeaky clean."
"Yeah. I ask somebody else. No problem." he said amiably enough twisting to the guys seated behind us.

Nice guy. That is until my girlfriend called to check up on me and overheard their conversation.

"By the way, who's sitting next to you Jack?" she asked.
"Just some Turkish guy. He's ok."
"He's complaining about how foreigners are very rude to Turks."
"He just asked me to take some jackets through customs for him."
"DON'T DO IT!!!"
"I know, I know. I've seen that movie."
"Ahh. The hell with that movie!" None of the Turks are happy about that movie. What's the movie? I'll give you a hint: What's the only movie you have seen about Turkey? -- Which is precisely why they aren't pleased with it.

The bus driver revved it up again. He was stressed out trying to keep to his schedule. Finally, the same Bulgarian woman cajoled the customs guy to hand over my passport and let me get on the bus. So ZOOM we were off!!!

50 feet and we had to get off again and then I had to keep the driver waiting again because I was the only one who had to go to the police for a visa (which clearly states "Employment Prohibited"). Then I had to walk over to the white shack to pay for it. Then I had to go back to the polis (police) for a stamp. Then I ran back on the bus and ZOOM we were off!!!

50 feet and we had to get off again for the baggage inspection. And before I knew it I was back in Istanbul for a glass of wine, a glass of cognac and 6 glasses of beer.

Awaiting bag inspections (Background: burning trash, smells good)

In the Middle there was...

A Faithful Reader! Welcome!

"Faithful?" You are no doubt scoffing. "Why, it's rather easy to be faithful in the beginning of a journey!" But dear reader, you are in fact, not at the start, but in the middle of a long tale -- 28 years in length no less. And as it is, your hero now resides in the bridge between the West and East. His road has led him from his cradle in Kentucky, to the wood of Indiana across the Heartland to the Gold sapped mountains of California, valliantly crossing the high seas to "nukyular" Korea, around the Peninsula to the Great Rising China, shooting back east through San Francisco for a year-long beer with his brother to his current snow soft home in Turkey with his girlffriend. And plenty of excursions in between you must read to believe!

And so it is now that I sit in suit and tie, drinking black Turkish tea with a clink clink clinkety of a small silver spoon in the glassy bulb of my glass, awaiting to educate the youth of Turkey in the global language (in which you read its very words!)

In the following posts, I believe you'll find a riveting story of adventure, intrigue, desire, darkness and love -- a yarn with it all! (hard work being the exception). But alas, that is the tale and this tale begins here.......... in the middle.