Now back in Minnesota, I wrote this article to serve as your homework :). If you’re visiting Turkey for the first time, you’re in the right place. Let me know if you’d like any other tips, and enjoy what follows!

Introduction

Is it possible to make sense of a country’s two thousand year history when you have only a few days and don’t speak the language? I think it is. Plan to visit Istanbul first. Then, as you branch out from this historic mecca, you will enjoy many other sites and landmarks. I will write about those in an upcoming post.

To help you make sense of places you’ll encounter in Istanbul and give you an edge on other tourists, I’ve organized this post into three categories. Each category represents a group of people or a person who shaped Turkey.

The three groups you should be excited to learn about include:

1. The Byzantines, folks who kept Christianity alive from 330 to 1453 CE.
2. The Ottomans, a group of tolerant Turks who spread their culture throughout the Middle East and Eastern Europe during the golden years of Islam.
3. Kemal Ataturk, a 20th century hero who fought off invading superpowers and put his proud stamp on the modern Turkish Republic.

The Best Byzantine Places to Visit

I don’t know about you, but I knew nothing about the Byzantines before I visited Turkey. It turns out they were early, devout Christians. They had caught the fever—and they put it into all of their art. And if you’ve ever attended church, you’ll understand what they were trying to tell us!

Stand in the Afternoon Sun in The Hagia Sophia

–Walk into the vast, ornate Hagia Sophia in the heart of Istanbul’s Old City. Built after Rome fell and the empire moved a thousand miles east, it was the largest church in the world for a millennium. That’s a thousand years, folks! Take in the vast exterior and the frescoes of Mary and angels. Climb a medieval ramp to the second floor and turn a corner to see a mosaic of Jesus so expressive you might burst into tears. Oh, and don’t miss the graffiti left by the Vikings.

“Read” the Bible on the Walls of St Savior of Chora Church

–Travel to the western edge of Istanbul’s Old City to visit the St. Savior of Chora church. There you’ll find familiar Bible stories—the turning of water into wine, Herod’s massacre of the innocents, Mary and Joseph’s flight to Bethlehem—expressed in mosaics. Yes, tiny little stones tell the tales – and they cover every inch of this incredible 11th century church.

Descend Into The Cisterns

–Walk down into the ghostly 6th century Basilica Cisterns, built to supply water to the Byzantines—and then for centuries, forgotten.

Walk Around Istanbul’s Ancient Land Walls

–Stroll along Istanbul’s Theodosian Walls, built in 413 CE, and consider what “state of the art defense” meant 1600 years ago. These two-layer structures were twelve meters high and two meters thick at their base, with 96 towers and, of course, a moat.

The Best Ottoman Places to Visit

Climb The Ramparts at Rumeli Hisari

–Imagine centuries of mismanagement that shrunk the Eastern Roman Empire down to one city: Constantinople. Head up the Bosphorus to Rumeli Hisari, a castle-like fortress built in a mere four months by Fatih Sultan Mehmet to prepare for his attack on Constantinople. (Imagine your own worst enemy setting up shop ten miles away, waiting for his chance to destroy you.) The Byzantines sent frantic letters to Europe begging for help, but little arrived. In Istanbul (formerly Constantinople), you’ll learn how the Ottomans outsmarted the Byzantines.

Enter the Battle at The Panorama Museum

–Put yourself right in the middle of Fatih Sultan Mehmet’s final, fatal siege at the Panorama Museum. An exciting book called Constantinople: The Last Conquest, by Roger Crowley, gives all the gory details. Then: re-visit the Walls to pinpoint their weak spots.

Marvel at Istanbul Military Museum

–Visit the Military Museum to touch the chain the Byzantines attached across the Golden Horn in an attempt to prevent Mehmet’s ships from entering and attacking where Constantinople was most vulnerable. Mehmet outsmarted the Byzantines. . . I’ll let you discover why on your own.

–Now consider re-visiting the Hagia Sophia to imagine it full of frightened citizens, praying to save the city as invaders break down the walls.

Fall in Love At The New Mosque

–Peer into the New Mosque (built in 1665) beside the Spice Bazaar and feel like you’re floating inside an enchanted cloud. Interested in more? Visit the grand hilltop Suleimaniye Mosque; the pink Mihrimah Mosque with its history of romantic longing; The Rustem Pasha Mosque, built in cooperation with business establishments next to the Spice Bazaar; and the tiny gemlike Sokullu Mehmet Pasha Mosque just off the Hippodrome.

Play Sultan at Topkapi Palace

–Walk through the Topkapi Saray, the palace of the pleasure-loving Ottoman Sultans. Gaze upon their ornate robes, walk through their harem, and imagine yourself brandishing imperial swords and entertaining guests in cushioned splendor.

Roam the Bazaars

— Shop like a sultan: Head to the The Spice Bazaar to buy pomegranate-flavored Turkish Delight, dried sweetmeats, and Iranian saffron. Walk through the 500-year-old Grand Bazaar, a mesmerizing array of over 4,000 shops.

The Best Ataturk Places to Visit

And finally, we come to the era of Ataturk, the father of Modern Turkey. This remarkable man fought off four invading countries at once—at one time, folks!—and then dragged a hidebound, superstitious country into modernity.

People-Watch on Istiklal Avenue

–Stroll glitzy, historic Istiklal Avenue and admire its architecture and exuberance. Istiklal is the word for independence, appropriate for the Ataturk’s Republic, admired throughout the Middle East.

Admire Photos of Ataturk’s Amazing Life

–Study the impressive black and white enlargements of Ataturk’s life that adorn the Sea Road on your way up to Rumeli Hisari.

Translate Turkish Words in a Dictionary

–Relish your ability to look up Turkish words thanks to Ataturk, who changed the Turkish alphabet from Arabic to Roman characters.

Lift a Cup of Boza

–Enjoy boza, a Turkish drink made from fermented bulgur, at Vefa Bozaci, a few blocks above the Suleimaniye mosque. Buy some roasted chickpeas across the street and add them to your cup as Turks do. Ataturk’s cup hangs on the wall for all to see.

Have a Conversation With Your Turkish Hosts

–Admire Turkish pride in the cleanliness and vigor of Istanbul, the patience Turks display in traffic, and above all, the warm hospitality granted to visitors.

Now that you’ve read this post, you can start devising your own plan to “conquer” Istanbul! You can do a minimalist tour in two days, but I’d recommend three or four. Let me know if you have any questions!

Note: Istanbul is a ten-hour direct flight from NY City. A ticket should cost you about $1,200.

The post The Best Places to Visit on Your First Time in Turkey (2015 Edition) appeared first on Sue's Turkish Adventures.

This is an excerpt from my upcoming memoir . . .

Our upcoming relocation was no longer breaking news. The machinery of the move had started up, the most visible effect our now-empty living room. We had packed and sent personal effects, including a sofa and three upholstered chairs to Turkey. They would be at sea for about three months, arriving in Istanbul in June, 2010.

My focus had narrowed. Business-like, I dug into the many tasks at hand—putting together an air shipment, changing mailing and billing addresses, renewing my passport, and starting to learn some Turkish words. For the time being, I ceased contemplating how Turkish life might agree with me.

Three times each week after breakfast, I put on padded headphones with an attached microphone, and sat down at my computer. After logging in, I heard the pleasant voice of Fatma, my new Turkish teacher. “Iyi gunler, Susan. Nasilsiniz?” Good day, Susan. How are you?

Fatma, a resident of North Carolina, was brought to me in real time by Berlitz. I could not only hear her via the headphones, but I could also see the movement of her cursor on my screen. After greeting me, Fatma asked me to greet her. Then she brought up a set of pictures on my monitor and pointed at them, asking me for their names in Turkish.

When I got an answer correct, Fatma would exclaim, harika (HAAA ree kah), excellent. I loved that word, and worked hard so that I could hear it again and again from her. It had been easy to learn the word, harika. But unfortunately, less emotionally-saturated vocabulary resisted settling into my mind. Turkish words seemed to hit my middle-aged cranium and bounce right back off, only to gear up for another assault the next time I had a lesson.

Fatma spent over a week pointing at numbers from one to ten and saying, Bu iki? (Is this two?) Bu beş? (Is this five?) Bu sekiz? (Is this eight?) It was only after dozens of repetitions that I could remember these basic numbers, and altı, six, would remain a problem.

One day I decided to use all the Turkish words I had learned thus far—both from Fatma and from my visit to Istanbul—to write a poem. Word choice was easy with such a limited number to choose from. My attempt, heavy on foods and numbers, was fun to read aloud:

–Bir, iki, ooch
(One, two, three)
–Orhan Pamuk
(Turkish Nobel Laureate)

–SaBANji, KAHvey, doeNAIR
(university name, coffee, grilled lamb dish)
–JaDAYsee, lowKOOM, isKANder
(boulevard, Turkish delight, lamb dish)

–Kebab, AYran, dunYAHsuh
(kebab, salty yogurt drink, world)
–Simit, chai, chorBAsuh
(sesame ring, tea, soup)

–BILgee, dort, guNIGHdun
(information, four, good morning)
–Lost final sezon
(seen on billboards all over Istanbul in January, 2010)

Despite mastery of these words, I was having difficulty adding to my vocabulary. Why? Was I simply too distracted by moving details? Was it that the meanings were, unlike Spanish, seldom easy to guess? I was beginning to realize that my Spanish skills, a long-standing source of pride, were due in great part to the large number of Spanish-English cognates.

Or was it my age, the decreasing plasticity of my brain? I hadn’t sat down to study a new language since I was 24 years old. That was in 1979.

I was also having trouble retaining Turkish history. I had now read several accounts of Byzantine and Ottoman times, but the information hadn’t coalesced into any kind of clear, mental narrative. When people asked me about Turkish history, all I could do was proclaim my recent discovery: that the country used to be Christian, but now was Muslim.

Founding Father

If I couldn’t yet comprehend Turkey’s ancient past, maybe I could get a handle on its most recent century. On a list of recommended reading in the back of my guidebook, I discovered a book called Crescent and Star: Turkey at the Crossroads by Steven Kinzer. Kinzer had recently served as New York Times Istanbul bureau chief. Also listed was a memoir called Turkish Reflections, by Mary Lee Settle. Settle was the first woman to win an American Book Award. I ordered both books from Amazon.

Success! Kinzer’s writing on Turkey’s twentieth century drew me right in. In fact, I found myself reading lengthy, detailed chapters in one sitting. The new information involved topics like World War I and European colonial designs on the Middle East, which were already familiar to me. It went down—or, I should say, went in—easily.

I learned that I was headed for a Muslim republic whose founding father had declared, “I have no religion and at times I wish all religions at the bottom of the sea.” That would be Mustafa Kemal, the man known as Atatürk.

I learned that it is impossible to overstate Atatürk’s importance to modern Turkey.

At the start of World War I, concerned about British and French domination of the Middle East, Turkey threw its support behind Germany. This miscalculation hastened the Ottoman Empire’s demise. As the Great War ended, representatives of Sultan Mehmet VI signed a treaty with Great Britain, France, and Italy, allowing Turkey to be carved into British, French, Italian, and Greek spheres of influence.

British warships entered the Bosphorus, putting Istanbul under international control. France took over land near its new Syrian colony, and Italy moved across Turkey’s Mediterranean coast. Greece, promised Turkey’s western provinces by the British, seized Thrace and the Aegean coastline.

Mustafa Kemal, a blonde, blue-eyed army commander from Salonika in Ottoman Greece, disagreed. Esteemed for successfully defending Turkey’s Gallipoli peninsula, Kemal defied the ruling sultans, dashing around the country by horse and train, rousing an impoverished, defeated population.

People defending their own soil can accomplish what seems impossible. In 1922, the Turkish army led by Kemal managed to drive Greek forces down from the central Anatolian plateau, where they had overreached, back to Turkey’s westernmost city of Smyrna (known today as Izmir). Kemal’s forces then set fire to the city, literally pushing the Greeks into the sea. It was a horrific massacre, with hundreds of people drowning or burning to death. And it caused the Allies to relinquish their claim on Turkish territory.

Turkey had successfully resisted dismemberment. In 1923, with a mandate from an adoring nation, Mustafa Kemal became the Turkish Republic’s first president. He renamed himself Kemal Atatürk, the latter meaning “father of all Turks.”

With bad memories of punitive teachers at his Islamic primary school, and revulsion over the subservience of Turkey’s sultan to Western powers, Atatürk abolished the centuries-old Islamic caliphate. He elevated the Turkish military and moved the country’s capital from Istanbul, a city reminiscent of the debauched sultans, to Ankara, in the Anatolian heartland. Long an admirer of French modernity and advancement, he changed the Turkish alphabet from the Arabic to the Latin script, replying to his mostly illiterate constituents, “You will learn it in two weeks.”

The Hagia Sofia, formerly the largest church in Christendom, had served as a mosque since the Muslim conquest of 1453. In 1935, Atatürk proclaimed it a site of world heritage, and turned it into a museum.

Church and State

One might think that the Atatürk era, relatively free of religious strictures, was tolerant and liberal. But, perhaps because of the existential threat the country had just faced down, it was characterized by an emphasis on Turkish identity. Ethnic Greeks born in Turkey were sent back to Greece in a population exchange. The teaching of indigenous languages such as Kurdish, and the granting of non-Turkish names to babies was forbidden. A Kurdish independence movement was quashed. Minorities such as Alevis and the few Armenians that remained after their mass extermination a decade earlier under the Ottomans, were marginalized. No longer a multi-ethnic empire, Turkey became a nation of a single homogenous identity.

Atatürk replaced the Islamic calendar with the European one, and proclaimed Sunday the weekly holiday. Rather than pulling church and state apart, he turned them on their head, putting religious affairs under state control. He banned the fez, leading to protests in which 200 men died, and the headscarf, long part of Turkish peasant dress. He forbade people wearing these from entering government buildings, including public schools.

I would soon witness the extent to which Turks revered Atatürk. Kinzer describes today’s Turkey as remarkable, a place where it is perfectly acceptable to be non-religious, to never darken the door of a mosque or learn how to pray. Turks commonly drink rakı (an unsweetened, anise-flavored alcoholic drink), dance with members of the opposite sex and dress as those in the West. Kinzer feels it is one of the marvels of Turkey that the country is officially 98% Muslim, yet offers its people such a range of lifestyle choices.

Most of this can be traced back to Atatürk, and most of it is positive. But to Atatürk, the proper Turk was one in whose life religion plays little or no role. He considered believers superstitious people who held their country back. This Kinzer believes, marginalized over half the Turkish population. Kinzer feels that government actions such as writing sermons for imams, and excluding women who wear headscarves from high schools and universities violated freedoms of speech and privacy:

“In every culture that has existed over the entire course of human history, people have sought answers to the great mysteries of existence. Invariably they turn to religion. . . Wise leaders, even the most atheistic among them, know they must balance the sacred and secular impulses in their societies. Those who governed the Turkish Republic for the first eighty years of its existence were unable or unwilling to strike that balance. This led many Muslims to conclude that they had to choose between their religious faith and allegiance to the state. No state has ever prevailed in such a confrontation.” page 59-60

Hmm. “No state has ever prevailed.” Ominous words! Kinzer’s ideas complemented my understanding of human nature. It seemed to me that treating religious people unfairly—anywhere in the world—was asking for trouble. Was I heading to a country where a kind of vengeful payback was about to occur? I would read other books about modern Turkish history, but Kinzer’s was the only one that viewed its religious politics from a purely human perspective. As for Turkish Reflections, Mary Lee Settle simply stated that, “Atatürk went too far with religion.”

I had several family members who disdained the U.S. government. I couldn’t help asking one, “How would you feel if the American government decided to write the sermons you hear in church?” I received a look of incredulous disbelief.

The Western press called Turkey’s current leader “mildly Islamic.” I already knew that not all Turks liked him. During our look-see visit we had asked our driver, Aras, about the man, Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. Aras had first glanced around the restaurant we were lunching in. Then, lowering his head and speaking softly, he had confided that, “Erdoğan is trying to turn Turkey into Iran.”

What to make of this, sitting in my Minnesota living room? It seemed odd that a Muslim country would restrict the religious rights of Muslims. I had thought that in Muslim countries, Islam affected nearly every aspect of life. Now I realized that, at least in the case of Turkey, I was wrong.

The new information was intriguing, a refreshing change from my country’s wrangling over health care reform. It put American problems into perspective: another country was perhaps more divided than mine! And the fact that my mind was finally allowing something in was exhilarating. I guess for me, Turkey’s recent history was as emotionally charged as the word, harika.

Sankar left for Istanbul at the beginning of March, eager to begin work. It amused me that he was moving so enthusiastically to a Muslim country. Raised Hindu, he had witnessed sporadic Hindu-Muslim strife in India, often quite serious. He had in the past described Muslims as inflexible, combative.

“I can’t believe you’re happy moving to a place that’s 98 percent Muslim.” I commented as I helped him fold clothes into his suitcase.

“Oh it’s no problem,” Sankar replied. “Turks are ‘Muslim Lite.’”

We laughed. I guessed I had Atatürk to thank for that.

The post Studying Turkish appeared first on Sue's Turkish Adventures.

I tried to recall everything I’d ever learned or heard about Turkey. It wasn’t much. In fact I came up with just four facts. First, Turkey was the “Ottoman” in Ottoman Empire. Second, it was a member of NATO. Third, it wasn’t close friends with its neighbor, Greece (That from reading Louis de Berniers’ book, Birds Without Wings for my book group. The two countries had actually had a bitter population exchange in the 1920s). Last, I knew Turkey had had a leader named Atatürk. What was up with that name? Did the man’s name and the country’s name have anything to do with each other?

I didn’t quite know where Greece was in relation to Turkey. My neighbor declared it was to Turkey’s south. Later, checking a map, I discovered Greece lies west of Turkey.

In my mid-twenties, at the beginning of my year and a half tour in Yemen, I had met an American professor of Turkish history and his wife, Jan. When Jan mentioned they had lived for several years in Turkey. I voiced a common misperception.

“Turkey. That just seems like a dirty country.”

Jan fixed me with a rebuking stare. “It is very clean,” she said. Embarrassed, I fell silent. Later in life I would be highly critical of people who judged countries they had never visited.

Jan was probably used to hearing negative comments about Turkey. The movie, Midnight Express, had come out only a year earlier. Financed by Greece and directed by Oliver Stone, it portrayed horrors encountered in Turkish prisons by young Westerners caught smuggling drugs. The film frightened a generation of would-be travelers to Turkey.

I had never seen Midnight Express. In fact my present thoughts were not on a movie, but on a book that had nothing to do with Turkey per se. It was Culture Shock, A Wife’s Guide. Written by Robin Pascoe, an irreverent Canadian embassy wife, it asks the question, “In a marriage overseas, what else is there besides guilt and resentment?” Pascoe writes that the expatriate husband feels guilty for dragging his wife overseas, and the wife resents her husband for the same. Pascoe also confides that she “places feelings of isolation highest on my list of emotions that feed my antagonism toward my husband.” I felt like Pascoe had been watching me in Costa Rica.

In Costa Rica it had been easy to blame Sankar when things went wrong, and he had taken it without comment, the price he had to pay for his plum job. It had felt good to have this power while I felt otherwise powerless. And blaming my hubby for feeling lonely? I had been a master of that.

Talking Turkey

After Christmas, Sankar contacted a colleague who had recently returned from working in Istanbul. He and his wife agreed to meet us for dinner.

Our most pressing question was about housing, but I hoped this duo would also share some specific things we should either make sure to do, or make certain not to do for fear of offending Turks. Cultural do’s and don’t’s.

We had met with Sankar’s immediate predecessor and his family before going to Costa Rica. A large Chilean family, they had provided well-meaning tips but, already fluent in Spanish and with a special-needs child, their perspective was different from ours. That only became apparent until many months and several big decisions later. It was better, I learned, to seek advice from one’s own countrymen.

Mark and Beth, a handsome American couple in their early forties, met us just after Christmas at an Italian restaurant in St. Paul. Attempting a gracious start to our adventure while at the same time realizing I might be overdoing it, I presented them a thank-you box of Godiva chocolates.

The pair told us they had enjoyed Istanbul, but had chosen to live far north of the city, close to the International School their four children attended. Beth seemed reserved, but Mark rattled off the names of several attractive neighborhoods closer in, and I jotted them down in a notebook. He told me that my knowledge of Arabic would be helpful, but warned that Turks would be insulted if we referred to them as Arabs. He also cautioned against ever–ever–criticizing the founder of the Turkish Republic, Mustafa Kemal Atatürk. There was that name again, Atatürk. Apparently his memory was sacrosanct.

As our dinners were placed in front of us, I confided to Beth that I was worried about being lonely in Istanbul. I told her I had been alone much of the time in Costa Rica, with little to do. Beth brightened and became more talkative. She had a chemistry degree, she told me, and had found work as a volunteer science teacher at what she said was a “secret” evangelical Christian school. Overhearing that, Mark interrupted her and said no, it wasn’t a secret; the Turkish government was aware of the school. Beth shook her head in disagreement.

“Anyhow, you should go there and meet them. They would take you right in,” she enthused. Apparently it had been a lifesaver for her.

I wasn’t inclined toward conservative Christianity, but this was startling. In Yemen, proselytizing for any religion other than Islam had been strictly forbidden, and I shocked that anyone would attempt such a thing in a Muslim country. I was taken aback that Beth had brought up the topic. But then I had asked her for help.

As Sankar and I drove away after dinner, I had to fight the impulse to disparage Beth. The old me would have exclaimed, “Can you believe what she did in Istanbul?” as soon as we got into the car. Sankar would have listened, his mouth tight, thinking, Sue has already found something to dislike.

My dad had a habit of adding an admonition to every plan (“Sure, drive to Chicago, but you’re probably going to get stuck in traffic on the way.) While I knew he did so because he cared, it made him seem negative. I hadn’t intended to follow in his footsteps, but now I realized I was close to doing just that. Instead of throwing up roadblocks ahead of time, I criticized after the fact, as a way of presenting myself as discerning, letting people know I “didn’t miss a thing.” Now I began to realize how negative that also sounded, how it could cast a pall—or even direct blame.

Now, with some effort, and a feeling that I was leaving something important unsaid, I simply murmured something about what a nice evening it had been, and then rode home quietly. Before long, my frustration gave way to a sense of pride. Being gracious about the evening hadn’t been all that difficult. But would I be able to replicate this later, when deep in culture shock?

Our Friends Fear for Us

As the New Year approached, I told friends and neighbors about our plans. They seemed to bifurcate into two distinct groups: “We’re coming to see you!” and “Aren’t you afraid to go there?” All, however, were helpful, taking me out for goodbye lunches and dinners and listening to my concerns. I received several going- away gifts, mostly books. One was a slim, but substantial hardcover book called Eyewitness Travel Turkey. The cover photo featured a lapis lazuli body of water and a rugged-looking island with a sailboat lazing alongside it. Beneath was a summary of the attractions described inside the book: “bazaars, restaurants, beaches, mosques, history, carpets, hotels, national parks, shops, museums, ruins.” I sat down on my usual section of the couch and, snow flying outside, leafed through Eyewitness Travel Turkey.

Lavishly illustrated, the book divided Turkey into regions, including Thrace, the Aegean, the Mediterranean, and the Black Sea. As I paged through the book, words I’d known all my life, but never quite understood caught my eye. Byzantium. Caravansaray. Golden Horn. Topkapi (wasn’t that a movie back in the 1960s?) The Bosphorus (when had I first heard this word and what, exactly, did it refer to?)

Our Childhoods Started There

The country was unfolding. I gazed at photos of ruined castles, Roman arches, and round domes topped with golden crescent moons. Pictures of embroidered textiles and gilded mosaics leapt out, as did names of characters that had populated the fairy tales I’d read eons ago. Aladdin. King Midas. King Croesus. St. Nicholas.

I read about a church called the Hagia Sofia whose title meant holy wisdom. It was apparently a “vast edifice” that had stood in Istanbul since the 300s AD. And—this surprised me—it had been the largest church in the world for a thousand years.

The largest church for a millennium? How had I never heard about this place? I was still ambivalent about moving, but I couldn’t resist asking Sankar about it. He had grown up in India and had studied world history, something my high school hadn’t required. “How was a building in Turkey the largest church for so long?” I asked as we sat down to supper one evening.

“Well,” he replied, pleased at my interest. “When Rome fell, the empire and the control of Christianity moved east, to what is now Turkey. It was called the Eastern Roman Empire. Constantine ruled the city, and he named it after himself. He was the first emperor to convert to Christianity, so he built some important churches.

Like everyone, I knew the Roman Empire had fallen. But I had no idea what had happened after that. I had no idea that a city in now-Muslim Turkey had been the caretaker of my own religion.

Was it possible Turkey had something to teach me? And might living there help stitch together some of the facts that had free-floated in my head since childhood? I began to picture myself as a kind of scholar sitting alone (somehow this kind of loneliness did not seem unappealing) in a courtyard shaded by plane trees. Men wearing turbans and women in black robes passed by. My head was bent over an old book, its pages brittle and yellowed. I was beginning to sense the depth of Turkish history—and that I might enjoy uncovering it.

Still, some days I felt only dread. True, there would be a great deal to see and discover. But inevitably there would also be loneliness and incomprehensible situations. It would be so easy to react negatively.

I could only hope that gearing up intellectually would help me dodge resentment. That my curiosity might drag us out of the expatriate wife’s ruts of guilt and resentment.

I’d only taken a small step toward changing my attitude, but my success gave me hope I could manage bigger steps. And Eyewitness Travel Turkey? It had taken up residence on my kitchen table. I read a new section every day.

The post Istanbul: How to Prepare appeared first on Sue's Turkish Adventures.

“Fifty years ago,” Al reminisced, “3M sent us to Italy.”  In 1961, he and his wife Lucille and their two children moved from St. Paul to Casserta, in southern Italy, where 3M had manufacturing facilities. They fell in love with Italy, picking up the language and making friendships they have kept to this day. Their tour lasted for eleven years – and Lucille gave birth to four more children in Italy. The Italians were amazed at this growing American family, and would tell Lucille, “You are such a good girl.”

Back in the States, Al retired early to focus on serving authentic Italian food, and his St. Paul restaurants, Luci and Luci Ancora, have thrived. Several of Al’s children are involved in daily management, but he still keeps an eye out for ingredients. He visited Istanbul’s Spice Bazaar on his first day here, purchasing $600 worth of Iranian saffron and locating a new pine nut supplier.

I have started Turkish lessons just a few blocks south of the Cirağan Palace Hotel, where Al and his family stayed. My tutor, Ferda, and I meet at the Besiktas pier every Friday after work, sitting down at a lovely oceanside restaurant whose management does not seem to care that in two hours we order only tea. As we struggled over verb forms the other day, I realized I was getting too wrapped up in what was on the paper. I was failing to appreciate the large and small boats coming and going and the afternoon sunlight playing off the big old wooden Ottoman houses lining the opposite shoreline. One can become blasé in the most exotic of places.

After our lessons, the sea road back to our apartment is generally jammed with traffic, so I walk home. I pass the Four Seasons, where 3M put us up on our “look-see” visit back in January, 2010.  I remember how we ventured out in the weak winter daylight and examined the slightly gritty neighborhood near the hotel. Elegance and timidity are my most vivid recollections of that seemingly long-ago time.

Past the hotel, the street is shaded by plane trees, and on my left is a series of shiny black and white enlarged photographs depicting Kemal Atatürk’s life. Like others who regularly take this road, I have sat in traffic and studied each of these photos carefully. There are pictures of Atatürk in his soldier days and numerous photos of him at official events when he led the new Turkish Republic. My favorite, perhaps not surprisingly, is one that shows him explaining Turkey’s 1928 change to the Roman alphabet, when the Arabic script was abandoned. He brushed off protests, saying, “It will only take you a few days to learn,” and maybe he was right; in those days the majority of Turks were illiterate.

Ataturk and the new alphabet

I walk past the Cirağan Palace, formerly a Sultan’s residence, and think again about how Al and his family fell in love with a new country. This topic keeps returning to my mind because I feel my affection for Turkey growing. What might I do with these startling new sentiments when I return? Alas, Al was in his early forties when he returned from Italy; I will be in my late fifties. The years accumulate inexorably.

Further along the road, the traffic stops entirely as two lanes become one and cars from side street attempt to merge. We are close to “The First Bridge” now, a suspension affair that was built over the Bosphorus in 1973. (The Second Bridge joined it in 1988 and another is planned.) It seems hard to believe that until then, boats were the only way to cross to the Asia side.

Now I’m in Ortaköy, a charming urban village with eclectic buildings, among them public baths build in the 1570s and a synagogue that dates back to the seventeenth century. On my right are tiny shops with ceramic souvenirs, clothing stores including the too-cute-for-words Yargici, which opened a branch in Paris last year, and a maze of winding streets that lead to seaside restaurants and an ornate 1853 mosque. Ortakoy’s most famous food is kumpir, baked potatoes stuffed with all sorts of toppings including sweet corn, cheese, olives, sausage, mushrooms, and a mixture of mayonnaise and ketchup that runs together on top of the spud, turning an alarming shade of  pink. I haven’t tried it yet.

Past Ortakoy a string of fashionable nightclubs with names like Reina, Sortie and Anjelique; a lovely seaside park with winding paths; and the Turkcell stadium where blowout concerts are held even on weeknights (last month: Ricky Martin; this month: Bon Jovi).

Next, Arnavutkoy, lined with Ottoman row houses remiscent of San Francisco’s painted ladies. A mouth-watering glance at the fruit market there, bursting with peaches, apricots, melons and cherries this time of year, and then I turn to walk up the 600 foot hill to our apartment. As I climb, I wave to the tailor, the fruit seller, the baker, and a friendly realtor, and stop to pluck mulberries from roadside trees to sustain me for the final ascent.

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What an unusual opportunity, each and every Turkish family given a chance to label themselves and their descendants. I imagine few people resisted Atatürk’s edict, although there were probably some heated arguments over the unprecedented choice it posed.

What name would you choose for your family if you were asked? Would you pick one that expressed your interests or your family interests? Would you commemorate a particular time and place in the life of your family? Would you pick a characteristic you admire?

As it turned out, some Turks chose the time-tested “son of” route, which involves attaching “oğlu” to the end of their father’s first name.  Many named themselves after natural things: Alp: Alpine; Gül: Rose; Nergis: Daffodil; Deniz: Sea; Yaprak: Leaf.  Others focused on ideals or characteristics: Dilek: Wish; Pinar: Source; Tuğba: Tree of Life; Özlem: Desire; Mahir: Skillfulness; Gizem: Mystery.  There are a great many of these, reflecting prized characteristics: Keskin: keen or sharp; Kutlutan: lucky; Serin: fresh and cool; Yalçin: rugged; Öz: soul or authentic (this one was either quite freqıemtşu chosen or the Öz descendants were highly prolific, one runs into Özes all over the place). Other Turks went with fierce animals such as Arslan, lion, or more explicit expressions of power such as Sert: Hard; Çetin: Tough or Şimşek: Lightning. We have a student in our English program named Yağmur Şimşek: Rain Lightning.

I wonder about the person who chose Enmutlu: Most Happy, my boss’ last name. What was he or she like? Perenially cheerful and optimistic? Or was the name chosen out of some temporary elation? Since these decisions were made following years of conflict, did some people attempt to erase the past? Were all those who began calling themselves Kahraman, heroes? What about the man who chose Demirel, Iron Hand?

As I learn people’s names here in Turkey, it is fun to associate them with real, meaningful words – a great way to pick up vocabulary. Two-word names such as the aforementioned Most Happy and Rain Lightning, as well as Yildiz, Guiding Star, remind me of Native American names—odd, but endearing.

All of this makes me stop and consider the name of the country I am living in. What does Turkey bring to mind? Mary Lee Settle, winner of the 1978 American Book Award, wrote that Turkey has the worst and most ill–drawn public image of almost any country I know. I agree. Before I visited Turkey, the word conjured up little other than images of danger, and repression. It would be unthinkable to change this country’s name, yet a product with such undesirable connotations would be immediately renamed and rebranded, image consultants working feverishly to wipe away old impressions. But that’s another blog.

Today I am wondering what name I would choose if I was given the opportunity. It would be difficult to select an adjective without appearing self- righteous—or ridiculous. A word from nature might better stand the test of time. The word mountaintop comes to mind, but in Turkish it is dağ başı, (pronounced dah basha), which doesn’t sound great.  Koyak, valley, perhaps, or Orman, forest or better yet, the Latin-sounding Manzara, view.  Thinking of my family, however, I would probably find it impossible to resist wrapping my hopes and dreams around a moniker. Strong: guçlu. Resilient: direncli. Compassionate: şefkatli. Or just possibly, thinking of these unpredictable times, becerikli: resourceful.

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Born in Salonika, a part of the Ottoman Empire that is now Greece, he was given just one name, Mustafa, when he was born. Growing up in a Turkish-speaking household, he was bestowed the second name, Kemal, meaning “the perfect one,” by a mathematics teacher. He attended military high school and enlisted in the army. During World War I, Turkey fought alongside Germany, and Mustafa Kemal rose to the rank of Commander. He distinguised himself in the fierce battle for Galliipoli, holding the Turkish position on the peninsula until the Allies retreated.

At the end of the war, the victorious Allies met with the Ottoman Grand Vizier in Sevres, near Paris, to divvy up Turkish territory to Greece, Italy, France and Great Britain. The plan was to leave Turkey with only its Anatolian highlands. A treaty was signed, but the military was beginning to overshadow the weak Ottoman rulers. Mustafa Kemal, now one of ıts highest-ranking officers, refused to accept the treaty, and ınstead inspired his countrymen to continue fighing. Although weary and impoverished, Turks formed a national army under his leadership. The struggle for Turkey lasted three years, during which, I am told, Turkish men fought and Turkish women did the work of pack animals, carrying food and other essentials on their backs.

In 1923, Mustafa Kemal’s army declared victory, and Turkey remained intact. Mustafa Kemal became the first president of the secular Republic of Turkey, governing via a one-party system. He immediately set to work to modernize his country, abolishing the sultanate in 1922 and the caliphate in 1924, effectively breaking the back of the country’s religious leadership. Nonreligious himself, he commented, “The religion of Islam will be elevated if it will cease to be a political instrument. . .”

Newly named Kemal Ataturk, he turned to other sweeping reforms, abolishing religious clothing such as the veil and the fez, changing the alphabet from the Arabic script to the Latin script, decreeing that every Turk must have a last name, giving women the vote, and changing the weekly day of rest from Friday to Sunday. A list of his many other reforms is too lengthy to include here.

It is hard for me to think of a modern leader more effective than Kemal Ataturk in pulling his people into modernity. The man’s ferocious strength and imposing will in the interest of positive change are perhaps unmatched in the twentieth century. Given Turkey’s prominence and peacefulness in a troubled region, I believe Turkey was immensely fortunate to have had him.

73 years after Ataturk’s death, he is still revered more than any other Turkish leader, and his viewpoints form the basis for one of the major political parties. To commemorate his death, at 9:05 a.m. each November 10 a minute of silence is observed and people leave their houses, get out of their cars, and stand in respect.

It is quite common to see pictures of Ataturk in commercial and government establishments and imposing statues of him in parks, and there is an Ataturk Bulvari (boulevard) in most every Turkish town. The little language school I attended last fall was typical, with a photo of him hanging in every classroom and quotes from his speeches printed on placards in the hallways. Every day when I am out and about, I can count on seeing Ataturk’s picture.

Great leaders appear unpredictably and cannot be planned for, scheduled or created. There is something magical about the right person taking over at just the right time in a country’s history. It is difficult not to subsequently canonize a leader of this caliber, taking everything he said as absolute authority. But unfortunately,time and circumstances change. Nearly eighty years after Ataturk’s death, situations continually arise here in Turkey that he never faced and couldn’t have anticipated. How much of Ataturk’s wisdom should be applied to these new issues and how much should Turks look for independent solutions, including those that might be at odds with his ideas?

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. . . that Turkey is a member of NATO.

. . . that the ancient ruins of Ephesus are located there.

. . . that friends who visited Turkey seemed to like it, and one even said the country was quite clean.

. . . that Turkey had a leader named Ataturk (I was confused about how his name related to the country’s name).

. . . that Turkey and Greece are not good friends.

On December 13, my husband found out that his employer, 3M Company, was transferring him (us) to Istanbul for 2-3 years. An adventure was beginning, and despite mixed feelings, I started reading up on “my” new country. What I read, I liked. Since then, I have made two brief and enjoyable visits to Turkey, and will formally relocate there on June 19. I hope you’ll join me via my blog.

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