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Italy Has The God Father. Kars Has The Cheese Shops.


Karsak 2013 - full of friends, family, and a very cute eniste.

Karsak 2013 – full of friends, family, and a very cute eniste.

When I reach my lowest of lows – when times are so tough that the greatest solutions I can think of involve the characters of a Lyle Lovett song with a twist – a horse, a boat, and Muhammad Yunus  – there is only one thing left to do. I walk 3 kilometers to town, pumping my music, staring off into the distance at clouds as they conform around each other, an explosion of dark colors, like emo Tetris pieces, and only as the sidewalk starts to give to the final stretch of castle and mosques, do I press my face against a shop window I know only too well and stick my tongue out. That is my warning signal. Inside, the masters prepare themselves for my entrance.

I swing open the door, grab a string of white cheese jerky from the silver tray on the left, plop my bag down next to the desk, throw my hand and head forward for an embrace, and slump into a black leather chair. My Cheese Men greet me, and then with trained patience and deep wisdom they say as much as a question as a statement – “how are you baby.” (more…)

Kars’ Secret


The ancient Silk Road bridge standing on either side of the Turkish Armenian border is the symbolic gateway to Ani and this region - aiding foreigners in their travel to and between Anatolia.

The ancient Silk Road bridge standing on either side of the Turkish Armenian border is the symbolic gateway to Ani and this region – aiding foreigners in their travel to and between Anatolia.

Kars has a secret. Walk to the Police Station near the west end of town, past the security, up the stairs, take a right, walk three offices down and through the entrance marked “Yabanci Subesi.”  The desks and file cabinets shift every few months, but once you sit down in the latest seating arrangements and chat for 20 minutes or so, the secret I am talking about will poke it’s head through the door and say, “salam.”

Kars is filled with foreigners. (more…)

Why I Don’t Want To Give My TEDx Talk


Phosphate loaded energy efficient manure cakes stacked on top of each other in Kars.

Phosphate loaded energy efficient manure cakes stacked on top of each other in a village in Kars. Photo by Cat.

There are the classic reasons why I don’t want to give my TEDx talk: public speaking is terrifying, traveling to the venue and preparing takes a lot of time away from my work, and the whole process is stressful. These are not exactly reasons actually, more likee surmountable excuses. But I have other reasons that have taken me months of introspecting and writing drafts and quizzing my friends and watching hundreds of TED talks and even working with a speaking coach to truly understand.

These reasons are complicated, and I still haven’t sorted them out into a neat list. But this is how I feel. (more…)

God Pities the Foreigner


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I am a foreigner.

I was born and raised in the US, I immigrated to Turkey when I was 21 and I have since fallen in love with the country and stayed. I worked hard to learn the language. When I arrived, though I couldn’t count to 10, I was placed in a classroom of people who had been studying for 3 years, because beginner Turkish was cancelled. There was not enough interest. Classes were from 9-1, I had private tutoring from 2-4, and I watched Turkish movies and rehearsed Turkish songs from 6-9 pm. It was nearly 12 hours of Turkish for over 6 months. I went through three schools, and on the weekends I sat and did homework with my boyfriend’s family, who kept a cautious eye and a bottomless bowl of fruit next to me at all times. Read the rest of this entry

What We Do To Feel Like We Belong: Pushing Hairlines Beyond Feminism, Comfort and Closed Doors


I am a proud and fervent feminist. But I have done some things that would go against the more traditional grains of feminism and I am about to explain how and why.

I live in a traditional remote Anatolian town called Kars. It is a town that was featured in Orhan Pamuk’s novel SNOW, in which a writer (KA) visits Kars in winter to report on women committing suicides because they are not allowed to wear headscarves in school. This story is fictional. Kars is actually not that conservative. But I am more reserved here than I am in most places. I wear baggy clothes. I keep my eyes averted when I walk the streets. I flaunt a wedding ring. I am cautious about male guests. In public I am remarkably guarded for the spirit-exploding-from-the-inside-kind-of-person that I feel I am.

But behind closed doors my world, my body, my thoughts are ripe for the picking: by women. I recently saw the full potential of this when I uttered the following four words: My. Lover. Is. Visiting. (more…)

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