T.I.T. (This is Turkey)

Tonight, after leaving my friends house in Tunel, a part of Istanbul with a view that makes you wonder why anybody would ever live anywhere else, Tarkan and I walked up a hill to catch the tram that runs down the busiest/liveliest street in this excessively busy/lively town.  A charming ride for people watching and convenience, slowly careening down a convuluted street the Turkish tram is probably the best way to get from point A to point B.  That is until your tram runs over a dog--or god-willing a dog's tail.  Cause the way I figure it, to hear a dog scream that loudly and for that long and with that much suffering (a cry that I think will haunt me for years to come) meant both that the dog had been run over, but also that the dog was in sufficient enough condition to continue to scream.  So I'm thinking a tail.  I'm also thinking "T.I.T.--This Is Turkey."  The tram stopped a couple feet past for some pedestrians to scream at the tram driver, tourists to smile awkwardly, for me to cry a little and Tarkan to make his trademark response: "its not real, its not real." And because this is turkey, within a few minutes all was forgotten and the journey continued.  

Working hard to put the incident behind me and return to our lovely evening together I was elated to learn that I know enough Turkish to translate some of Michael Jackson's foremost love ballads into lumpy Turkish songs.  Naturally, I began serenading Tarkan on the underground metro with "Saat Hatirla misin? Ne zaman ask olduk? Saat Hatirla zaman? Ne zaman ilk tanisdik, yeah!" (Do you remember the time when we fell in love, do you remember the time when we first met, yeah) And yes I do remember the time both when Tarkan and I fell in love (because it was not so long ago) and when Magic Johnson dressed up like a pharoah, because for over a decade now that disturbing and brilliant image has run like a seamless backdrop through my demented little head.  

The night was beginning to pick up again, unphased by the smell of body odor on the train, Tarkan and I decided to buy some chocolate pudding from the new bakery near our house and mix it up with some milk to make the closest thing to a milkshake we could find in Turkiye. Still giggling from my latest rendition of "I'm bad, I'm bad, bunu biliyorson" the baker made some sick comment about me and sweets and sex...because this is turkey.   Needless to say Tarkan who does not look Turkish, but definitely is Turkish, understood.  Which is also why I am sitting here writing you this little vignette about our lovely night out while he goes back to the bakery to tell them off and teach them a lesson and other strange sayings about potentially scary, slightly manly, but mostly bizarre experiences.  My only hope is that no body loses a tail...and I can start a Turkish MJ cover band...and that the milkpudding tastes good...and for world peace.

night night,

love maya  (do it)